BANCROFT    LIBRARY 


By  author  of  the  "Prairie  Flower," 


^^^7^^^^^"= 

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TRAPPER'S  DAUGHTER, 


AUTHOR      OF     "THE     PRAIRIE     FLOWEU."""1 "  THE     INDIAN     SCOUT," 
."THE      TRAIL       HUNTER,''     "PIRATES     OF     THE      PRAIB1> 
"THE  TIGEll   SLAYEK,"  "GOLD   SEEKERS,"    "THE   INDIAN 
CHIEF,"  "BORDER  RIFLES,"  "FREEBOOTERS,"  "  WHITE 
SCALPER,"      "TRAPPERS     OF     THE     ARKAN 
"THE    CHIEF    OF    THE    AUCAS,"    "THE     RED 
TRACK,"  "THE  LAST  OF  THE  INCAS,"  "THE 
QUEEN    OF    THE    SAVANNAH,"     ETC. 


STORY  OF  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS, 


BY 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS; 

S06    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


PRICE  50 


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THE 


TRAPPER'S   DAUGHTER, 


STORY  OF  THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS. 


BY 


GUSTAYE    AIMARD. 

AUTHOR    OP   "THE    TRAIL    HUNTER,"    "THE    PRAIRIE    FLOWER,"   "THE   INDIAN 

SCOUT,"    "PIRATES    OF    THE    PRAIRIES,"    "THE     TIGER   SLAYER,"     "THE 

GOLD    SEEKERS,"    "THE    INDIAN    CHIEF,"    "THE    BORDER    RIFLES,"     ' 

"THE  FREEBOOTERS,"  "THE  WHITE  SCALPER,"  "THE  TRAPPERS 

OF  THE  ARKANSAS,"  "  THE  CHIEF  OF   THE   AUCAS,"  "  THE 

RED    TRACK,"    "THE    LAST    OF    THE    INCAS,"    "  THE 

QUEEN    OF    THE    SAVANNAH,"    ETC.,   ETC. 


COMPLETE  AND  UNABRIDGED  EDITION, 


.T.    B.    PETERSON    &    BROTHERS; 

306    GH-EST-NUT    STREET. 


CONTENTS. 


PAOl 

L— The  Jacal 21 

II. — Inside  the  Cabin 24 

III. — A  Conversation 28 

IV. — A  Backward  Glance 32 

Y. — The  Hacienda  Quemada 35 

VI. — The  Apaches 39 

VII.— The  Hill  of  the  Mad  Buffalo 43 

VIII. — Black  Cat  and  Unicorn 47 

IX.— The  Meeting 51 

X. — A  War  Stratagem 55 

XI. — In  the  Forest 59 

XII. — The  Missionary 63 

XIII.— Return  to  Life 66 

XIV. — An  Old  Acquaintance  of  the  Reader 70 

XV. — Convalescence 74 

XVI. — An  Accomplice 77 

XVII.— Mother  and  Son 81 

XVIII.— The  Consultation , 85 

XIX.— Bloodson 89 

XX.— Red  Cedar 93 

XXI.— Curumilla 98 

XXII.—  El  Mai  Paso 101 

XXIII.— El  Rastreador 105 

XXIV.— The  Camp  in  the  Mountains 108 

XXV.— A  Game  at  Hazard 112 

XXVI.— Nathan  Paints  Himself. ,...  116 

XXVIL— A  Trail  in  the  Air 120 

XXVIII.— The  Fight  with  the  Grizzly 123 

XXIX.— A  Mother's  Love 127 

XXX.— The  Sorcerer 131 

XXXI.— White  Gazelle 135 

XXXII.—  The  Escape 139 

XXXIII.—  Plot  and  Counterplot 143 

XXXIV.— Cousin  Bruin HT 

XXXV.— The  Hunt  Continued 151 

XXXVI.—  The  Last  Refuge 155 

XXXVIL— The  Casket 159 

XXXVIII.— Smoke  in  the  Mountains 103 

XXXIX.— The  Boar  at  Bay , 167 

XL.— Lynch  Law 112 

(19) 


THE 


TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


BY    GU  STAVE    AIMARD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    JACAL. 

ABOUT  three  in  the  afternoon,  a  horse 
man,  dressed  in  the  Mexican  costume, 
was  galloping  along  the  banks  of  a 
stream,  an  affluent  of  the  Gila,  whose 
capricious  windings  compelled  him  to 
make  countless  detours.  This  man, 
while  constantly  keeping  his  hand  on 
his  weapons,  and  watching  for  every 
evert,  urged  his  horse  on  by  shouts  and 
spur,  as  if  anxious  to  reach  his  journey's 
eud. 

The  wind  blew  fiercely,  the  heat  was 
oppressive,  the  grasshoppers  uttered 
their  discordant  cries  under  the  herb 
age  that  sheltered  them ;  the  birds 
slowly  described  wide  circles  in  the 
air,  uttering  shrill  notes  at  intervals  : 
coppery  clouds  were  incessantly  pass 
ing  athwart  the  sun,  whose  pale,  sickly 
beams  possessed  no  strength  ;  in  short, 
all  presaged  a  terrible  storm. 

The  traveller  seemed  to  notice  nought 
of  this  ;  bowed  over  his  horse's  neck, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  ahead,  he  increased 
his  speed,  without  noticing  the  heavy 
drops  of  rain  that  already  fell,  and  the 
hoarse  rolling  of  distant  thunder  which 
began  to  be  heard. 

Still  this  man,  had  he  wished  it,  could 
easily  have  sheltered  himself  under  the 
thick  shade  of  the  aged  trees  in  the  vir 
gin  forest  which  he  had  been  skirting 
for  more  than  an  hour,  and  thus  let  the 
heaviest  part  of  the  storm  pass ;  but  a 


weightier  interest,  doubtless,  urged  him 
on,  for,  while  increasing  his  speed,  he 
did  not  think  of  drawing  his  zarape  over 
his  shoulders  to  protect  him  from  the 
rain,  but  contented  himself,  as  each 
gust  of  wind  howled  past  him,  with, 
drawing  his  hat  a  little  tighter  on  his 
head,  while  repeating  to  his  horse,  in  a 
sharp  tone : 

"  Forward  !    forward  !" 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  stream,  whose 
banks  the  traveler  was  following,  grew 
gradually  narrower,  and  at  a  certain 
spot  the  bank  was  completely  obstruct 
ed  by  an  undergrowth  of  shrubs  and  in 
terlaced  creepers,  which  completely 
prevented  any  approach.  On  reaching 
this  point  the  traveler  stopped  ;  he  dis 
mounted,  carefully  inspected  the  vicin 
ity,  took  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  and 
led  it  into  a  copse,  where  he  concealed 
it,'  attaching  it  with  his  lasso  to  the 
trunk  of  a  large  tree,  after  removing 
the  bossal  to  let  it  browse  at  liberty. 

"  Rest  here,  Negro,"  he  said,  as  he 
softly  patted  it ;  "  do  not  neigh,  for  the 
enemy  is  at  hand  —  I  shall  soon  re 
turn." 

The  intelligent  animal  seemed  to 
comprehend  the  words  its  master  ad 
dressed  to  it,  for  it  stretched  out  his 
head  and  rubbed  it  against  his  chest. 

"  Good,  good,  Negro  !  wait  awhile  !" 

The  stranger  then  took  from  his  hol 
sters  a  brace  of  pistols,  which  he  placed 
in  his  girdle,  threw  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder,  and  started  hurriedly  in  the 
direction  of  the  river.  He  buried  him- 
(21) 


22 


THE     TRAPPER'S    LAUGHTER. 


self  without  hesitation  in  the  shrubs 
that  bordered  the  stream,  carefully  sep 
arating  the  branches  which  at  each  step 
barred  his  progress.  On  reaching  the 
edge  of  the  water  he  stopped  for  a  mo 
ment,  bent  forward,  seemed  to  be  list 
ening,  and  then  drew  himself  up,  mut 
tering  : 

"  There  is  no  one  ;  all  is  safe." 

He  then  stepped  on  a  mass  of  inter 
twined  lianas,  which  extended  from  one 
bank  to  the  other,  and  formed  a  natural 
bridge.  This  bridge,  apparently  so 
slight,  was  firm,  and  though  it  oscillat 
ed  under  the  traveler's  footsteps,  he 
crossed  it  in  a  few  seconds.  He  had 
scarce  reached  the  other  bank,  when  a 
girl  emerged  from  a  clump  of  trees 
which  concealed  her. 

"  At  last !"  she  said,  as  she  ran  up  to 
him  :  "  oh  !  I  was  afraid  you  would 
not  come,  Don  Pablo." 

"Ellen,"  the  young  man  answered, 
with  his  whole  soul  in  his  glance, 
"  death  alone  would  keep  me  away." 

The  traveler  was  Don  Pablo  Zaratc  ; 
the  girl,  Ellen,  Red  Cedar's  daughter.* 

"  Come,"  she  said. 

The  Mexican  followed  her,  and  they 
walked  on  for  some  time  without  ex 
changing  a  word.  When  they  had 
passed  the  chapparel  which  bordered 
the  river,  they  saw  a  short  distance  be 
fore  them  a  wretched  jacal,  which  leant 
solitary  and  silent  against  a  rock. 

"  There  is  my  home,"  the  maiden 
said,  with  a  sad  smile. 

Don  Pablo  sighed,  but  made  no  re 
ply,  and  they  continued  to  walk  in  the 
direction  of  the  jacal,  which  they  soon 
reached. 

"Sit  down,  Don  "Pablo,"  the  maiden 
went  on,  as  she  offered  her  comrade  a 
stool,  on  which  he  sank.  "  I  am  alone  ; 
my  father  and  two  brothers  went  off 
this  morning  at  sunrise." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid,"  Don  Pablo 
answered,  "of  remaining  thus  alone  in 
the  desert,  exposed  to  innumerable 
dangers,  so  far  from  all  help  ?" 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  has  not  this  life 
been  ever  mine  ?" 

"  Does  your  father  go  away  often  ?" 

"  Only  during  the  last  few  days.  I 
know  not  what  lie  feni-s,  but  he  and  my 

*  See  tlie  Trail  lluiUer  and  Pirates  of  the  Prairies. 


brothers  seem  sad  and  preoccupied , 
they  go  long  journeys,  and  when  they 
return  quite  worn  out,  the  words  they 
address  to  me  are  harsh  and  snappish." 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Don  Pablo,  "  I 
can  tell  you  the  cause  of  these  long 
journeys." 

"  Do  you  fancy  I  have  not  guessed 
it  ?"  she  replied  ;  "  no,  no,  the  horizon 
is  too  gloomy  around  us  for  me  not  to 
perceive  the  gathering  storm  which  will 
soon  burst  over  us  ;  but,"  she  added, 
with  an  effort,  "let  us  speak  of  our 
selves,  the  moments  are  precioas ; 
what  have  you  done?" 

"  Nothing,"  the  young  man  said, 
mournfully  ;  "  all  my  researches  have 
been  in  vain." 

"That  is  strange,"  Ellen  muttered; 
"and  yet  the  coffer  cannot  be  lost." 

"I  am  as  convinced  of  that  as  you 
are;  but  into  whose  hands  has  it  fall 
en  ?  that  is  what  I  cannot  say." 

The  maiden  reflected. 

"  When  did  you  notice  its  disappear 
ance?"  Don  Pablo  went  on  a  moment 
after. 

"  Only  a  few  minutes  after  Harry's 
death  ;  frightened  by  the  sounds  of  the 
fight  and  the  fearful  uproar  of  the 
earthquake,  I  was  half  mad.  Still,  I 
can  remember  a  circumstance  which 
will  doubtless  put  us  on  the  right 
track." 

"  Speak,  Ellen,  speak,  and  whatever 
is  to  be  done  I  will  do." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
with  an  indefinable  expression.  She 
bent  over  to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  said,  in  a  voice  soft  as  a  bird's 
song  : 

"  Don  Pablo,  a  frank  and  loyal  ex 
planation  between  us  is  indispensable." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  the 
young  man  stammered,  as  he  let  his 
eyes  fall. 

"  Yes  you  do,"  she  replied,  with  a 
sad  smile;  "you  understand  me,  Don 
Pablo  ;  but  no  matter,  as  you  pretend 
to  be  ignorant  of  what  I  wish  to  say  to 
you,  I  will  explain  myself  in  such  a 
way  that  any  further  misconception  will 
be  impossible." 

"  Speak  !  Ellen  ;  though  I  do  not 
suspect  your  meaning,  I  have  a  fore- 
bodin<r  of  misfortune." 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


"Yes,"  she  continued,  "you  are 
right ;  a  misfortune  is  really  concealed 
under  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  if  you 
do  not  consent  to  grant  me  the  favor  I 
implore  of  you." 

Don  Pablo  rose. 

"Why  feign  longer?  since  I  cannot 
induce  you  to  give  up~  your  plan,  El 
len,  the  explanation  you  ask  of  me  is 
needless.  Do  you  believe,"  he  went 
on,  as  he  walked  in  great  agitation  up 
and  down  the  jacal,  "  that  I  have  not 
already  regarded  the  strange  position 
in  which  we  find  ourselves  from  every 
side?  fatality  has  impelled  us  toward 
each  other  by  one  of  those  accidents 
which  human  wisdom  cannot  foresee.  I 
love  you,  Ellen,  I  love  you  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  soul,  you,  the  daughter 
of  the  enemy  of  my  family,  of  the 
man  whose  hands  are  still  red  with  my 
sister's  blood,  which  he  shed  by  assas 
sinating  her  coldly,  in  the  most  infa 
mous  manner.  I  know  that,  I  tremble 
at  thinking  of  my  love,  which,  in  the 
prejudiced  eyes  of  the  world,  must 
seem  monstrous.  All  that  you  can  say- 
to  me,  I  have  said  repeatedly  to  myself; 
but  an  irresistible  force  drags  me  on 
this  fatal  incline.  Will,  reason,  resolu 
tion,  all  are  broken  before  the  hope  of 
seeing  you  for  a  moment  and  exchang 
ing  a  few  words  with  you.  I  love  you, 
Ellen,  so  as  to  leave  for  your  sake,  re 
latives,  friends,  family,  aye,  the  whole 
universe." 

The  young  man  uttered  these  words 
with  sparkling  eye,  and  in  a  sharp  stern 
voice,  like  a  man  whose  resolution  is 
immovable.  Ellen  let  her  head  droop, 
and  tears  slowly  ran  down  her  pallid 
cheeks. 

"  You  weep !"  he  exclaimed,  "  oh 
Heavens  !  can  I  be  mistaken  ?  you  do 
not  love  me  ?'' 

"  I  love  you,  Don  Pablo !"  she  re 
plied  in  a  deep  voice ;  "yes,  I  love  you 
more  than  myself ;  but  alas!  that  love 
will  cause  our  ruin,  for  an  insurmount 
able  barrier  separates  us." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  exclaimed  impetu 
ously  ;  "  no,  Ellen,  you  are  mistaken, 
you  are  not,  you  cannot  be  the  daufh- 
ter  of  Red  Cedar.  Oh,  that  coffer,  that 
accursed  coffer,  I  would  give  half  the 
time  Heaven  will  still  grant' me  to  live, 


could  I  recover  it.  In  it,  I  feel  certa'n, 
are  the  proofs  I  seek." 

"  Why  cheat  ourselves  with  a  wild 
hope,  Don  Pablo  ?  I  believed  too 
lightly  in  words  uttered  unmeaningly 
by  the  squatter  and  his  wife  :  my  child 
hood  recollections  deceived  us,  that  is 
unhappily  too  certain.  I  am.  now  con 
vinced  of  it :  all  proves  it  to  me,  and  I 
am  really  that  man's  daughter." 

Don  Pablo  stamped  his  foot  angrily. 

"  Never,  never,"  he  shouted,  "  it  is 
impossible,  the  vulture  does  not  pair 
with  the  dove,  demons  cannot  be  be 
trothed  to  angels.  No,  that  villain  is 
not  your  father  !  Listen,  Ellen  ;  I  have 
no  proof  of  what  I  assert — all  seems, 
on  the  contrary,  to  prove  that  I  am 
wrong  ;  appearances  are  quite  against 
me ;  but  still,  mad  as  it  may  seem,  I 
am  sure  that  I  am  right,  and  that  my 
heart  does  not  deceive  me  when  it  tells 
me  that  man  is  a  stranger  to  you." 

Ellen  sighed. 

Don  Pablo  continued. 

"  See,  Ellen,  the  hour  has  arrived  for 
me  to  leave  you.  Remaining  longer 
with  you  would  compromise  your  safe 
ty  ;  give  me  then  the  information  I  am 
awaiting." 

"  For  what  good  ?"  she  murmured 
despairingly,  "  the  coffer  is  lost." 

"  I  am  not  of  your  opinion  ;  I  be 
lieve,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  has  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  a  man  who  intends  to 
make  use  of  it,  for  what  purpose  I  am 
ignorant,  but  I  shall  know  it,  be  as 
sured." 

"  As  you  insist  on  it,  listen  to  rne, 
then,  Don  Pablo,  though  what  I  have 
told  you  is  extremely  vague." 

"  A  gleam,  however  weak  it  may  be, 
will  suffice  to  guide  me,  and  perhaps 
enable  me  to  discover  what  I  seek." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it !"  she  sigh 
ed  ;  "  this  is  all  I  can  tell  you,  and  it 
is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  say  cer 
tainly  whether  I  am  not  mistaken,  for, 
at  the  moment,  terror  so  troubled  my 
senses  that  I  cannot  say  positively  I 
saw  what  I  fancied  I  saw." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  the  young  man  said, 
impatiently: 

"  When  Harry  fell,  struck  by  a  bul 
let,  and  was  writhing  in  the  last  throes, 
two  were  near  him,  one  already  wound- 


24 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


ed,  Andres  Garote  the  ranchero,  the 
other,  who  stooped  over  his  body,  and 
seemed  rifling  his  clothes " 

"  Who  was  he  ]" 

"  Fray  Ambrosio.  I  even  fancy  I  can 
remember  seeing  him  leave  the  poor 
hunter  with  a  badly  restrained  move 
ment  of  joy,  and  hiding  in  his  bosom 
something  which  I  could  not  distin 
guish." 

"  No  doubt  but  he  had  seized  the 
coffer." 

"  That  is  probable,  but  I  cannot  say 
positively,  for  I  was,  I  repeat,  in  a  con 
dition  which  rendered  it  impossible  for 
me  to  perceive  anything  clearly." 

"  Well,"  said  Don  Pablo,  pursuing 
his  idea  ;  "  what  became  of  Ambrosio  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  after  the  earth 
quake,  my  father  and  his  comrades 
rushed  in  different  directions,  each  seek 
ing  his  safety  in  flight.  My  father, 
more  than  any  other,  had  an  interest  in 
concealing  his  trail,  the  monk  left  us  al 
most  immediately,  and  I  have  not  seen 
him  since." 

"  Has  Red  Cedar  never  spoken  about 
him  before  you  ?" 

"  Never." 

"  That  is  strange !  No  matter.  I 
swear  to  you,  Ellen,  that  I  will  find 
him  again,  if  I  have  to  pursue  him  to 
hell ;  it  is  that  scoundrel  who  has  stolen 
the  coffer." 

"  Don  Pablo,"  the  maiden  said  as  she 
rose,  "  the  sun  is  setting,  my  father 
and  brothers  will  soon  return,  we  must 
part." 

"  You  are  right,  Ellen,  I  leave  you." 

"  Farewell,  Don  Pablo,  the  storm  is 
bursting;  who  knows  if  you  will  reach 
your  friends'  bivouac  safe  and  sound  V 

"I  hope  so,  Ellen,  but  if  you  say  to 
me  farewell,  I  reply  that  we  shall  meet 
again  :  believe  me,  dear  girl,  put  your 
trust  in  Heaven,  for  if  we  have  been 
permitted  to  love,  it  is  because  that  love 
will  produce  our  happiness." 

At  this  moment  lightning  flashed 
across  the  sky,  and  the  thunder  burst 
ominously. 

"There  is  the  storm,"  the  maiden  ex 
claimed;  "  go,  go,  in  Heaven's  name  !" 

"  Good  bye,  my  well-beloved,  good 
bye,"  the  young  man  said,  as  he  rushed 


from    the    jacal;     "put  your  trust   in 
Heaven,    and   in   me." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !"  Ellen  exclaimed,  as 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  "  grant  that  my 
presentiments  have  not  deceived  me, 
or  I  shall  die  of  despair." 


CHAPTER  H. 

INSlDE      THE      CABIN. 

AFTER  Don  Pablo's  departure,  the 
maiden  remained  fora  long  time  thought 
ful,  paying  no  attention  to  the  mourn 
ful  sounds  of  the  raging  tempest,  or  the 
hoarse  whistling  of  the  wind,  every  gust 
of  which  shook  the  jacal,  and  threat 
ened  to  carry  it  away.  Ellen  was  re 
flecting  on  her  conversation  with  the 
Mexican  ;  the  future  appeared  to  her  sad, 
gloomy,  and  storm-laden.  In  spite  of  all 
the  young  man  had  said  to  her,  hope  had 
not  penetrated  to  her  heart ;  she  felt  her 
self  dragged  involuntarily  down  the  in 
cline  of  a  precipice,  into  which  she  must 
fall :  all  told  her  that  a  catastrophe  was 
imminent,  and  that  the  hand  of  GOD 
would  soon  fall  terribly  and  implacably 
on  the  man  whose  crimes  had  wearied 
justice. 

Toward  midnight,  the  sound  of  horses- 
was  heard,  gradually  approaching,  and 
several  persons  stopped  before  the  jacal. 
Ellen  lit  a  torch  of  candlewood  and 
opened  the  door:  three  men  entered. 
They  were  Red  Cedar  and  his  two  sons, 
Nathan  and  Sutter. 

For  about  a  month  past,  an  inexplica 
ble  change  had  taken  place  in  the  squat 
ter's  way  of  acting  and  speaking.  This 
brutal  man,  whose  thin  lips  were  con 
stantly  curled  by  an  ironical  smile, 
who  ever  had  in  his  mouth  mockery 
and  cruel  words,  who  only  dreamed  of 
murder  and  robbery,  and  to  whom  re 
morse  was  unknown,  had  been  for  some 
time  sad  and  morose :  a  secret  restless 
ness  seemed  to  devour  him  ;  at  times, 
when  he  did  not  fancy  himself  observed, 
he  gave  the  girl  long  glances  of  inex 
plicable  meaning,  and  uttered  profound 
sighs  while  shaking  his  head '  in  a  mel 
ancholy  way. 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


25 


Ellen  had  noticed  this  change,  which 
she  could  not  account  for,  and  which  on 
ly  augmented  her  alarm  ;  for  it  needed 
very  grave  reasons  thus  to  alter  a  na 
ture  so  energetic  and  resolute  as  Red 
Cedar's. 

But  what  were  these  reasons?  Ellen 
sought  them  in  vain,  but  nothing  gave 
an  embodiment  to  her  suspicions.  The 
squatter  had  always  been  kind  to  her, 
so  far  as  his  savage  training  permitted 
it,  treating  her  with  a  species  of  rough 
affection,  and  softening,  as  far  as  was 
possible,  the  harshness  of  his  voice  when 
he  addressed  her.  But  since  the  change 
which  had  taken  place  in  him,  this  affec 
tion  had  become  real  tenderness.  He 
watched  anxiously  over  the  maiden, 
continually  striving  to  procure  her  those 
comforts  and  trifles  which  so  please  wo 
men,  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
procure  in  the  desert,  and  hence  possess 
a  double  value. 

Happy  when  he  saw  a  faint  smile  play 
on  the  lips  of  the  poor  girl,  whose  suf 
ferings  he  guessed  without  divining  the 
cause,  he  anxiously  examined  her,  when 
her  pallor  and  red  eyes  told  him  of 
sleepless  nights  and  tears  shed  during 
his  absence.  This  man,  in  whom  every 
tender  feeling  seemed  to  be  dead,  had 
suddenly  felt  his  heart  beat  through  the 
vibration  of  a  secret  fibre,  of  whose  ex 
istence  he  had  ever  been  ignorant,  and 
he  felt  himself  re-attached  to  humanity 
by  the  most  holy  of  passions,  paternal 
love.  There  was  something  at  once 
grand  and  terrible  in  the  affection  of 
this  man  of  blood  for  this  frail  and  del 
icate  maiden.  There  was  something  of 
the  wild  beast  even  in  the  caresses  he 
lavished  on  her ;  a  strange  blending  of 
a  mother's  tenderness  with  the  tiger's 
jealousy. 

Red  Cedar  only  lived  for  his  daughter 
and  through  his  daughter.  With  affec 
tion  shame  had  returned,  that  is  to  say, 
while  continuing  his  life  of  brigandage, 
he  feigned,  before  Ellen,  to  have  com 
pletely  renounced  it,  in  order  to  adopt 
the  existence  of  the  woodrangers  and 
hunters.  The  maiden  was  only  half 
duped  by  this  falsehood :  but  how  did 
it  concern  her1?  completely  absorbed  in 
her  love,  all  that  was  beyond  it  became 
to  her  indifferent. 


The  squatter  and  his  sons  were  sad, 
and  seemed  buried  in  thought  when, 
they  entered  the  jacal  ;  they  sat  down 
without  uttering  a  word.  Ellen  has 
tened  to  place  on  the  table  the  food  she 
had  prepared  for  them  during  their  ab 
sence. 

"Supper  U  ready,"  she  said. 

The  three  men  silently  approached 
the  table. 

"  Do  you  not  eat  with  us,  child  T'Red 
Cedar  asked. 

"  I  am  not  hungry,"  she  replied. 

"Hum  !"  said  Nathan,  "Ellen  is  dain 
ty — she  prefers  Mexican  cookery  to 
ours." 

Ellen  blushed,  but  made  no  reply  ; 
Red  Cedar  smote  the  table  with  his  fist 
angrily. 

"  Silence  !"  he  shouted  ;  "  how  does 
it  concern  you  whether  your  sister  eats 
or  not  1  She  is  at  liberty  to  do  as  she 
likes  here,  I  suppose." 

"  I  don't  say  the  contrary,"  Nathan 
growled  ;  "  still  she  seems  to  affect  a 
dislike  to  eat  with  us." 

'•  You  are  a  scoundrel  !  I  repeat  to 
you  that  your  sister  is  mistress  here, 
and  no  one  has  a  right  to  make  any 
remarks  to  her." 

Nathan  looked  down  angrily,  and  be 
gan  eating. 

"  Come  here,  child,"  Red  Cedar  con 
tinued,  as  he  gave  his  rough  voice  all 
the  gentleness  of  which  it  was  suscepti 
ble,  "  come  here,  that  I  may  give  you  a 
trifle  I  have  bought  you." 

The  maiden  approached  and  Red  Ce 
dar  drew  from  his  pocket  a  gold  watch 
attached  to  a  long  chain. 

"  Look  you,"  he  said,  as  he  put  it 
round  her  neck,  "  I  know  that  you  have 
desired  a  watch  for  a  long  time,  so  here 
is  one  I  bought  of  some  travelers  we 
met  on  the  prairie." 

While  uttering  these  words,  the 
squatter  felt  himself  blush  involuntari 
ly,  for  he  lied ;  the  watch  had  been 
torn  from  the  body  of  a  woman  killed 
by  his  hands  when  attacking  a  caravan. 
Ellen  perceived  this  blush ;  she  took 
off  the  watch  and  returned  it  to  Red 
Cedar  without  saying  a  word. 

"  What  are  you  about,  girl  V'  he  said, 
surprised  at  this  refusal,  which  he  was 
far  from  expecting  j  "  why  don't  you 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


take  this  toy,  which,  I  repeat  to  you,  I 
procured  expressly  for  you  ?" 

The  maiden  looked  at  him  sternly, 
and  replied  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  Because  there  is  blood  on  that 
.watch,  and  it  is  the  produce  of  a  rob 
bery — perhaps  of  a  murder." 

The  squatter  turned  pale  ;  instinc 
tively  he  looked  at  the  watch,  and  there 
was  really  a  patch  of  blood  on  the  case. 
Nathan  burst  into  a  coarse  and  noisy 
laugh. 

"  Bravo  !"  he  said  ;  "  well  done — the 
little  one  guessed  the  truth  at  the  first 
look.': 

Red  Cedar,  who  had  let  his  head 
droop  at  his  daughter's  reproaches,  drew 
himself  up  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  him. 

"  I  told  you  to  be  silent,"  he  ex 
claimed,  furiously  ;  and  seizing  the  stool 
on  which  he  had  been  sitting,  he  hurled 
it  at  his  son's  head. 

The  latter  avoided  the  blow  and  drew 
his  knife — a  struggle  was  imminent. 
Sutter,  leaning  against  the  walls  of  the 
jacal,  with  his  arms  crossed  and  his 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  prepared,  with  an 
irynical  smile,  to  remain  spectator  of 
the  fight ;  but  Ellen  threw  herself  bold 
ly  between  the  squatter  and  his  son. 

"  Stay  !"  she  shrieked  ;  "  stay,  in 
Heaven's  name  !  What,  Nathan,  would 
you  strike  your  father  ?  And  are  you 
not  afraid  to  hurt  your  first-born  son  ?" 

"  May  the  devil  twist  my  father's 
neck  !"  Nathan  replied  ;  "  does  he  take 
me  for  a  child,  or  does  he  fancy  I  am 
disposed  to  put  up  with  his  insults? 
By  heavens !  we  are  bandits  ;  our  only 
law  is  force,  and  we  recognize  no  other. 
My  father  will  ask  my  pardon,  and  I 
will  see  whether  i  forgive  him." 

"  Ask  your  pardon,  dog  !"  the  squat 
ter  shouted;  and  bounding  like  a  tiger 
with  a  movement  swifter  than  thought, 
he  seized  the  young  man  by  the  throat 
and  fell  heavily  on  him. 

"  Ah,  ah  !"  he  continued,  as  he  placed 
his  knee  on  his  chest,  "  the  old  lion  is 
good  yet.  Your  life  is  in  my  hands — 
what  do  you  say  ]  Will  you  play  with 
me  again  ]" 

Nathan  howled  as  he  writhed  like  a 
serpent  to  free  himself  from  the  grasp 
that  mastered  him.  At  length  he  recog 


nized  his  impotence,  and  confessed  him 
self  conquered. 

"It  is  good,"  he  said;  "you  are 
stronger  than  1 — you  can  kill  me." 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "that  shall  not, 
be.  Rise,  father,  and  set  Nathan  free  ; 
and  you,  brother,  give  me  your  knife — 
should  such  a  contest  take  place  between 
father  and  son  ?" 

She  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the 
weapon  which  the  young  man  had  let 
fall  from  his  hand,  lied  Cedar  rose. 

"  Let  that  serve  you  as  a  lesson,"  he 
said,  "  and  teach  you  to  be  more  pru 
dent  in  future." 

The  young  man,  angered  and  ashamed 
of  his  downfall,  sat  down  again  without, 
a  word.  The  squatter  turned  to  his 
daughter,  and  offered  her  the  watch  u 
second  time. 

"  Will  you  have  it?"  he  asked  her. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  resolutely. 

"  Very  good." 

Without  any  apparent  passion,  he  \>  t 
the  watch  fall,  and,  putting  his  heel  on 
it,  reduced  it  to  powder.  The  rest  ot 
the  supper  passed  off  without  incident : 
the  three  men  ate  greedily,  not  speak 
ing  to  each  other,  and  waited  on  bv 
Ellen.  When  the  pipes  were  lit,  tin 
maiden  wished  to  retire  to  the  compart 
ment  which  served  as  her  bedroom. 

"Stay,  my  child,"  Bed  Cedar  saul. 
"  I  have  to  speak  with  you." 

Ellen  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the 
j.-ical  and  waited.  The  three  men  wen; 
on  smoking  silently  for  some  tk.  >j, 
while  outside  the  storm  still  continue'.!. 
At  length,  the  young  men  shook  the 
ashes  out  of  their  pipes,  and  rose. 

"Then,"  said  Nathan,  "all  is  ar 
ranged." 

"  It  is,"  replied  Red  Cedar. 

"  At  what  hour  will  they  come  to 
fetch  us  ?"  Sutter  asked. 

"  At  an  hour  before  sunrise." 

"  Very  good." 

The  brothers  lay  down  on  the  ground, 
rolled  themselves  in  their  furs,  and  soon 
fell  asleep.  Red  Cedar  remained  for 
some  time  plunged  in  thought,  while 
Ellen  did  not  stir.  At  length  he  raiset'. 
his  head. 

"Come  hither,  child,"  he  said. 

She  came  up  and  stood  before   him. 

"  Sit  down  by  my  side." 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


27 


"  For  wTiat  good,  father  ?  Speak,  I 
am  listening,"  she  answered. 

The  squatter  was  visibly  embarrass 
ed  ;  he  knew  not  how  to  commence  the 
conversation,  but,  after  some  moments' 
hesitation,  he  said  : 

"  You  are  ill,  Ellen." 

The  maiden  smiled  sadly. 

"  Did  you  not  notice  it  before  to 
day,  father?"  she  replied. 

"  No,  my  child  ;  I  have  noticed  your 
sadness  for  a  long  time  past.  You  are 
not  suited  for  a  desert  lite." 

"  That  is  true,"  was  all  she  said. 

"  We  are  about  to  leave  the  prairie," 
Red  Cedar  went  on. 

Ellen  gave  an  almost  imperceptible 
start. 

"Soon?"  she  asked. 

"  This  very  day ;  in  a  few  hours  we 
shall  be  on  the  road.'' 

The  girl  looked  at  him. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "we  will  draw 
nearer  to  the  civilized  frontier  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  with  conside 
rable  emotion. 

Ellen  smiled  mournfully. 

"  Why  deceive  me,  father  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  exclaimed; 
"I  do  not  understand  you." 

,"On  the  contrary,  you  understand 
me  thoroughly,  and  it  would  be  better 
to  explain  your  thoughts  to  me  frankly 
than  try  to  deceive  me  for  a  purpose  I 
cannot  divine.  Alas!"  she  continued, 
with  a  sigh,  "am  1  not  your  d-iughter, 
and  must  undergo  the  consequences  of 
the  life  you  have  chosen  ?" 

The  squatter  frowned. 

"  I  believe  that  your  words  contain  a 
reproach,"  he  replied.  "  Life  is  scarce 
opening  for  you;  then  how  do  you  dare 
to  judge  the  actions  of  a  man  ?" 

"  I  judge  nothing,  father.  As  you 
say,  life  is  scarce  opening  for  me  ;  still, 
however  short  my  existence  may  have 
been,  it  has  been  one  long  suffering." 

"  That  is  true,  poor  girl,"  the  s'quat- 
ter  said,  gently  ;  "pardon  me,  I  should 
be  so  glad  to  see  you  happy.  Alas  ! 
heaven  has  not  blessed  my  efforts, 
though  all  I  have  done  has  been  for 
your  sake." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  father,"  she  quick 
ly  exclaimed  j  "  do  not  thus  make  me 


morally  your  accomplice,  or  render  me 
responsible  for  your  crimes,  which  I 
execrate,  else  you  would  impel  me  to 
desire  death." 

"  Ellen,  Ellen  !  you  misunderstood 
what  I  said  to  you ;  I  never  had  the  in 
tention,"  he  said,  much  embarrassed. 

"  No  more  of  this,"  she  went  on ; 
"we  are  going,  you  said,  I  think,  father  ? 
Our  retreat  is  discovered,  we  must  fly  ; 
that  is  what  you  wish  to  tell  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  that,  though  I 
cannot  imagine  how  you  have  learned 
it." 

"  No  matter,  father.  And  in  what 
direction  shall  we  proceed?" 

"  Temporarily  we  shall  conceal  our 
selves  in  the  Sierra  de  los  Comanches.' 

"  In  order  that  our  pursuers  may  lose 
our  trail  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  that  reason,  and  for  an 
other,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice. 

But,  however  low  he  spoke,  Ellen 
heard  him. 

"What  other?" 

"  It  does  not  concern  you,  child,  but, 
myself  alone." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  father,"  she  said, 
with  considerable  resolution;  "  fron. 
the  moment  that  I  am  your  accomplice, 
I  must  know  all.  Perhaps,"  she  added, 
with  a  sad  smile,  "  I  may  be  able  to 
give  you  good  advice." 

"  I  will  do  without  it." 

"  One  word  more.  You  have  nume 
rous  enemies,  father." 

"  Alas  !  yes,"  he  said,  carelessly. 

"  Who  are  those  who  compel  you  to 
fly  to-day  ?" 

"  The  most  implacable  of  all,  Don 
Miguel  Zarate." 

"  The  man  whose  daughter  you  assas 
sinated  in  so  cowardly  a  way." 

Red  Cedar  struck  the  table  passion- 
atelv. 

""Ellen  !"  he  shouted. 

"  Do  you  know  any  other  appellation 
more  correct  than  that  ?"  she  asked, 
coldly. 

The  bandit  looked  down. 

"Then,"  she  continued,  "you  are 
about  to  fly — fly  forever?" 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  he  muttered. 

Ellen  bent  over  him,  laid  her  white 
band  on  his  arm,  and  regarded  him 
fixedly. 


28 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


"  Who  are  the  men  about  to  join  yo 
in  a  few  hours?"  she  asked. 

"Fray   Arnbrosio,  Andres  Garote — 
our  old  friends,  in  short." 

"That  is  just,"  the  girl  murmurec 
with  a  gesture  of  disgust,  "a  coinmoi 
danger  brings  you  together.  Well,  m; 
father,  you  and  your  friends  are  al 
cowards." 

At  this  violent  insult  which  his  daugh 

ter  coldly  hurled  in  his  teeth,  the  squat 

ter  turned  pale,  and  rose  suddenly. 

"  Silence  !"  he  shouted,  furiously. 

"  The  tiger,  when  attacked  in  its  lair 

turns  on  the  hunters,"  the  girl  went  on 

without  displaying  any  emotion;  "why 

do  you  not  follow  their  example?" 

A  sinister  smile  played  round  the 
corners  of  the  bandit's  mouth. 

"  I  have  something  better  in  my 
pocket,"  he  said,  with  an  accent  impos 
sible  to  describe. 

The  maiden  looked  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"  Take  care,"  she  at  length  said  to 
him  iua  deep  voice;  "take  care!  the 
hand  of  GOD  is  on  you,  and  His  venge 
ance  will  be  terrible." 

After  uttering  these  words,  she  slow 
ly  withdrew  and  entered  the  room  set 
apart  for  her.  The  bandit  stood  for  a 
moment,  crushed  by  this  anathema  ;  but 
he  soon' threw  up  his  head,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  disdainfully, and  lay  down  by 
the  side  of  his  sons,  muttering  in  a 
hoarse  and  ironical  voice  : 
"  GOD  !  does  he  exist  ?" 
Soon,  no  other  sound  was  audible  in 
the  jacal  saving  that  produced  by  the 
breathing  of  the  three  men.  Ellen  was 
praying  fervently,  while  the  storm  re 
doubled  its  fury  outside. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A    CONVERSATION. 

ON  leaving  the  cabin,  Don  Pablo  re- 
crossed  the  river,  and  found  his  way 
back  to  the  thicket  where  he  had  tied 
his  horse  up.  The  poor  animal,  terri 
fied  by  the  lightning  and  the  hoarse  rol 
ling  of  the  thunder,  uttered  a  snort  of 
pleasure  at  seeing  its  master  again. 


Without  loss  of  a  moment,  the  young 

man  leaped  into  the  saddle  and  started 
at  a  gallop. 

The    rain    fell    in  torrents,  the  wind 

whistle!  violently,  the  young  man  fear 
ed  at  each  moment  losing  his  way,  and 
groped  through  the  immense  solitude 
which  stretched  out  before  him,  and 
which  the  darkness  prevented  him  from 
sounding.  Like  all  well-gifted  men 
habituated  to  an  adventurous  life,  Don 
Pablo  de  Zarate  was  well  fitted  for 
struggling.  His  will  grew  in  propor 
tion  to  the  difficulties  that  rose  before 
him,  and  instead  of  discouraging  him, 
obstacles  only  confirmed  him  in  his  re 
solution.  So  soon  as  he  had  chosen  au 
object,  he  reached  it  in  spite  of  ail. 

His  love  for  Ellen,  born,  as  it  were, 
through  a  thunder-clap  —  as,  in  fact, 
most  true  loves  spring  into  life,  where 
the  unexpected  always  plays  the  chief 
part — this  love,  we  say,  for  which  he 
was  in  no  way  prepared,  and  which 
surprised  him  at  the  moment  which  he 
least  dreamed  of  it,  had  assumed,  with 
out  his  will,  gigantic  proportions,  which 
all  the  reasons  which  should  have  ren 
dered  it  impossible,  only  augmented. 

Although  he  bore  the  deepest  hatred 
for  Red  Cedar,  and,  had  the  opportunity 
presented  itself,  would  have  killed  him 
without   hesitation  like   a  dog,  his  love 
for  Ellen  had  became  a  worship,  an  ad 
oration  about  which  he  no  longer  rea 
soned,  but  which  he  endured   with  that 
intoxication  and  that  delight  felt  in  for- 
jidden  things.      This  girl,  who  hud  re- 
nained   so   pure  and   chaste   amid  this 
amily  of  bandits,  possessed  an  irresis 
tible   attraction  for  him.     He   had  said 
n  his  conversation  with  her  he  was  in- 
.itnately  convinced   that  she  could  not 
>e    Red    Cedar's    daughter.     It    would 
lave  been  impossible  for  him  to  give 
us  reasons ;  but  with  that  tenacity  of 
)urpose  which  only  some  few  men  pos- 
ess  he  necessarily  sought  the  proofs  of 
his  conviction  which  nothing  support- 
d,    and,   even  more,  he   sought    these 
•roofs   with   the   certainty   of   finding 
hem. 

For  a  month  past,  he  had  discovered, 
>y  an  inexplicable  chance,  Red  Cedar's 
etreat,  which  Valentine,  the  skilful 
'rail-huuter,  had  been  unable  to  detect. 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


29 


Don  Pablo  had  immediately  profitec 
by  his  good  fortune  to  see  again  the 
girl  he  had  believed  lost  for  ever.  Thi 
unexpected  success  appeared  to  him  a 
good  omen  ;  and  every  morning,  with 
out  saying  anything  to  his  friends,  he 
mounted  his  horse  upon  the  first  excuse 
that  offered,  and  rode  thirty  miles  to 
speak  with  her  he  loved  for  a  moment. 
Every  consideration  was  silent  in 
presence  of  his  love  :  he  allowed  his 
friends  to  exhaust  themselves  in  vain 
researches,  preciously  keeping  his  secret 
in  order  to  be  happy,  at  least,  for  a  few 
days  ;  for  he  perfectly  foresaw  that  the 
moment  must  arrive  when  Red  Cedar 
would  be  discovered.  But,  in  the 
meanwhile,  he  enjoyed  the  present. 
With  all  those  who  love  in  this  way, 
the  future  is  nothing,  the  present  is  all 
in  all. 

Don  Pablo  galloped  on  by  the  glare 
of  the  flashes,  feeling  neither  the  rain 
that  inundated  him,  nor  the  wind  that 
howled  round  his  head.  Absorbed  in 
his  love,  he  thought  of  the  conversation 
he  had  held  with  Ellen,  aud  pleased 
himself  with  recalling  all  the  words 
that  had  been  exchanged  during  the 
hour,  which  slipped  away  almost  too 
rapidly. 

All  at  once,  his  horse,  to  which  he 
paid  no  attention,  neighed,  and  Don 
Pablo  raised  his  head  intuitively.  Ten 
paces  ahead  of  him,  a  horseman  was 
standing  motionless  across  his  path. 

"Ah,  ah!"  said  Don  Pablo,  as  he 
drew  himself  up  on  the  'saddle,  and 
cocked  his  pistols ;  "  you  are  very  late 
on  the  road,  comrade.  Let  me  pass,  if 
you  please." 

"  I  am  no  later  than  yourself,  Don 
Pablo,"  was  the  immediate  response, 
"  since  I  meet  you." 

"  Halloh  !"   the  young   man  shouted, 
as  he  uncocked  his  pistols,  and  returned 
them  to  his  holsters  ;  "  what  the  deuce 
are  you  doing  here,  Don  Valentine?" 
"  As  you  see,  I  am  waiting." 
"Whom  can  you  be  waiting  for  at 
this  advanced  hour?" 

"  For  yourself,  Don  Pablo." 
"  For  me  !"  the  Mexican  said  in  sur 
prise  ;  "  that  is  strange." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  suppose.  I 
desire  to  have  a  conversation  with  you, 


which  no  one  must  overhear ;  and  as 
that  was  impossible  in  camp,  I  came  to 
wait  for  you  as  you  passed  :  that  is 
simple  enough,  I  fancy." 

".It  is;  but  what  is  less  so,  is  the 
hour  and  spot  you  have  selected  my 
friend." 

"  Why  so?" 

"  Hang  it,  a  terrible  storm  is  let 
loose  over  our  heads ;  we  have  no 
place  here  to  shelter  us ;  and  I  repeat, 
it  is  nearer  morning  than  night." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  time  pressed, 
and  I  could  not  select  the  hour  to  my 
fancy." 

"  You  alarm  me,  my  friend ;  has 
anything  new  occurred?" 

"  Nothing  that  I  know  of,  up  to  the 
present ;  but  ere  long  we  shall  see 
something,  you  may  feel  assured." 

The  young  man  stifled  a  sigh,  but 
made  no  reply.  While  exchanging 
these  hurried  sentences,  the  Trail-huH- 
ter  and  the  Mexican  had  joined,  and 
now  rode  side  by  side.  Valentine  con 
tinued — 

"  Follow  me  for  a  few  moments.  I 
will  lead  you  to  a  spot  where  we  can 
converse  at  ease,  without  fear  of  being 
disturbed." 

"  What  you  have  to  say  to  me  must 
be  very  important?" 

"  You  shall  soon  judge  of  that." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  lead  me 
far  ?" 

"  Only  a  few  paces ;  to  a  grotto 
which  I  noticed  in  the  flashes." 

"  Let  us  go  then." 

The   two   men   spurred   their  horses, 
and    galloped    silently    side     by   side ; 
they  went  on  thus  for  hardly  a  quarter 
of  an   hour  in   the  direction   of  a  thick 
happaral  which  skirted  the  river. 

"  We  have  arrived,"  said  Valentine, 
as  he  checked  his  horse  and  dismount- 
;d.  "  You  had  better  let  me  gojirst, 
or  it  may  happen  that  the  cave  we  are 
about  to  enter  may  have  an  occupier 
not  at  all  disposed  to  move  for  us,  and 
t  is  as  well  to  act  prudently." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  to  what  oc- 
jupier  do  you  allude  ?" 

"  Hang  it,  I  do  not  know,"  the 
Frenchman  replied  carelessly  ;  "  in  any 
case,  it  is  as  well  to  be  on  one's  guard." 

While  saying  this,  Valentine  produc- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


ed  from  under  his  zarape  two  candle- 
wood  torches,  which  he  lighted ;  he 
gave  one  to  Don  Pablo,  and  the  two 
men,  after  hobbling  their  horses,  open 
ed  the  bushes  and  advanced  boldly  to 
ward  the  cave,  After  walking  a  few 
steps,  they  suddenly  found  themselves 
at  the  entrance  of  one  of  those  magni 
ficent  natural  grottos  formed  by  the 
volcanic  convulsions  so  frequent  in 
these  parts. 

"  Attention  !"  Valentine  muttered  in 
a  low  voice  to  his  comrade. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  the  two 
men  startled  a  cloud  of  night  birds  and 
bats,  which  flew  away  heavily  in  all 
directions,  uttering  shrill  cries.  Valen 
tine  went  on,  not  troubling  himself 
about  these  funereal  guests,  whose  sports 
he  so  unexpectedly  noticed.  All  at 
once,  a  hoarse  and  prolonged  growl 
came  from  a  distant  corner  of  the  cave. 

The  two  men  stopped  as  if  rooted  to 
the  ground.  They  found  themselves 
face  to  face  with  a  magnificent  black 
bear,  whose  usual  residence  this  cavern 
doubtless  was,  and  which,  standing  on 
its  hind  legs  with  open  mouth,  showed 
the  troublesome  persons  who  came  to 
trouble  it  so  inopportunely  in  its  lair, 
a  tongue  red  as  blood,  and  glistening 
claws  of  a  remarkable  length.  It  bal 
anced  itself  clumsily,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  its  congeners,  and  its  round 
and  dazzled  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ad 
venturers  in  a  manner  that  would  cause 
reflection.  Fortunately,  they  were  not 
the  men  to  let  themselves  be  intimidat 
ed  for  long. 

"  Hum  !"  said  Valentine,  surveying 
the  animal,  "  I  was  sure  of  it ;  there 
1$  a  young  fellow  who  seems  inclined  to 
sup  with  us." 

"  My  rifle,  on  the  contrary,  will  make 
us  sup  with  him,"  Don  Pablo  said  with 
a  laugh. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  fire,"  the 
hunter  said  quickly,  as  he  checked  the 
young  man  who  had  already  shouldered 
his  rifle ;  "  a  shot  fired  at  this  spot  will 
produce  a  fearful  row  :  we  do  not  know 
what  sort  of  people  may  be  prowling 
around  us ;  so  we  must  not  compro 
mise  ourselves." 

"  That  is  true,"  Don  Pablo  remark- 
cd ;  "  but  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 


"  That  is  my  business,"  Valentine  re- 
plied  ;  "  take  my  torch,  and  hold  your 
self  in  readiness  to  help  me." 

Then,  resting  his  rifle  against  the  side 
of  the  cave,  he  went  out,  while  the 
Mexican  remained  alone,  facing  the 
bear,  which,  dazzled  and  perplexed  by 
the  light,  did  not  venture  to  stir.  In  a 
few  minutes  Valentine  returned  ;  he 
had  been  to  fetch  his  lasso,  fastened  to 
the  saddle  bow. 

"  Now,  stick  your  torches  in  the 
ground,  to  be  ready  for  any  accident." 

Don  Pablo  obeyed  ;  the  hunter  care 
fully  prepared  the  lasso  and  whirled 
it  round  his  head,  while  whistling  in  a 
peculiar  way. 

At  this  unexpected  appeal  the  bear 
moved  heavily  two  or  three  paces  for 
ward,  but  that  was  its  ruin.  The  lasso 
started  from  the  hunter's  hands,  the 
slip-knot  fell  on  the  animal's  shoulders, 
and  the  two  men  slipped  back,  tugging 
at  it  with  all  their  strength.  The  poor 
quadruped,  thus  strangled  and  stretch 
ing  out  a  tongue  a  foot  long,  tottered 
and  fell,  striving  in  vain  to  remove  with 
its  huge  paws  the  unlucky  collar  that 
compressed  its  throat.  But  the  hunters 
were  not  conquered  by  their  enemy's 
tremendous  efforts ;  they  redoubled 
their  strength,  and  did  not  loose  the 
lasso  till  the  bear  had  given  its  last 
sigh. 

"  NO--V,"  said  Valentine,  after  he  had 
assured  himself  that  Bruin  was  really 
dead,  "  bring  the  horses  in  here,  Don 
Pablo,  while  1  cut  off  our  enemy's 
paws,  to  roast  them  in  the  ashes  while 
we  are  talking." 

When  the  young  man  re-entered  the 
grotto,  leading  the  horses,  he  found 
Valentine,  who  had  lighted  a  large  fire., 
busied  in  flaying  the  bear,  whose  paws 
were  gently  roasting  in  the  embers,  as 
he  had  said.  Don  Pablo  gave  the 
horses  their  food,  and  then  sat  down 
before  the  fire  near  Valentine. 

"  Well,"  said  the  latter  with  a  smile, 
"  do  you  fancy  this  a  comfortable  place 
for  a  gossip  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  the  young  man  care 
lessly  replied,  as  he  rolled  between  his 
fingers  a  husk  cigarette  with  the  dex 
terity  apparently  peculiar  to  the 
Spanish  race ;  "  we  are  all  right  here :  I 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


am    ready    fur    your    explanation,    my 

I'nend."  ' 

'•  I  will  give  it  you,"  the  hunter  said, 
who  had  finished  skinning  the  bear,  and 
quietly  returned  his  knife  to  his  boot, 
after  carefully  wiping  the  blade;  "  how 
long  have  you  known  Red  Cedar's 
hiding  place  ?" 

At  this  point-blank  question,  which 
he  was  far  from  expecting,  the  young 
man  started  ;  a  feverish  flush  covered 
his  face,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to 
answer. 

"  Why ?"  he  stammered. 

"About  a  month,  I  think1?"  Valen 
tine  continued,  not  appearing  to  notice 
his  friend's  confusion. 

"  Yes,  about,"  the  other  replied,  not 
knowing  what  he  said. 

"  And  for  a  month,"  Valentine  con 
tinued,  imperturbably,  "you  have  left 
vuur  father's  side  each  night  to  go  and 
make  love  to  the  daughter  of  the  man 
who  murdered  your  sister?" 

"Mv  friend,"  Don  Pablo  said,  pain 
fully.  ' 

'•  Would  you  assert  that  it  is  not 
true?"  the  hunter  wei>t  on  hastily,  as 
he  bent  on  him  a  glance  which  made 
him  look  down :  "  explain  yourself, 
Pablo — 1  am  waiting  for  your  justifica 
tion.  1  am  curious  to  know  how  you 
will  manage  to  prove  to  me  that  you 
have  acted  rightly." 

The  young  man,  while  his  friend 
was  speaking,  had  time  to  regain,  at 
any  rate,  a  portion,  if  not  all,  of  his 
cjolness  and  presence  of  mind. 

"  You  are  severe,"  he  said  ;  ;'  before 
accusing  me,  it  would  be,  perhaps, 
worth  while  to  listen  to  the  reasons  1 
have  to  offer  you." 

"  Stay,  my  friend."  Valentine  said, 
quickly,  "  let  us  not  turn  from  the 
question,  but  be  frank ;  do  not  take 
the  trouble  to  describe  your  love  to 
me,  for  I  know  it  as  well  as  you  do — I 
saw  it  born  and  grow ;  still,  permit  me 
to  tell  you  certainly  I  thought  that  af 
ter  the  assassination  of  Dona  Clara, 
this  love,  which  had  hitherto  resisted 
everything,  would  die  out.  It  is  im 
possible  to  love  those  we  despise.  Red 
Cedar's  daughter  can  only  appear  to 
you  through  a  blood-stained  cloud." 

"  Don    Valentine,"   the   young  man 


exclaimed,  in  grief,  "  would  you  render 
that  an<;el  responsible  for  the  crimes 
of  a  villain  ?" 

"  I  will  not  discuss  with  you  the  fa 
mous  theory  which  lays  down  that 
faults  and  crimes  are  personal ;  faults 
may  be  so,  but  in  desert  life  the  whole 
family  must  be  responsible  for  the 
crimes  of  its  chief;  were  it  not  so,  no 
security  would  be  possible  for  honest 
people." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  speak  thus  !" 

"  Very  good — let  us  change  the 
ground,  as  that  is  disagreeable  to  you. 
You  possess  the  noblest  and  most  hon 
orable  nature  of  any  man  I  know,  Don 
Pablo.  I  presume  you  never  had  a 
thought  of  making  Ellen  your  mis 
tress  ?" 

"  No  !"  the  young  man  savagely 
protested. 

"  Would  you  m;ike  her  your  wife, 
then  ?''  Valentine  said,  with  a  cutting 
accent,  as  he  looked  him  fixedly  in  the 
face. 

Don  Pablo  bowed  his  head  in  de 
spair. 

"  I  am  accursed  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,"  Valentine  said,  as  he  swized  ^ 
him  sharply  by  the  arm,  "  you  are 
mad.  Like  all  young  men,  passion 
sways  and  overpowers  you — you  listen 
to  that  alone  ;  you  despise  the  voice 
of  reason,  and  hence  commit  faults 
which  may  speedily  become,  in  spite  of 
yourself,  crimes." 

"  Do  not  speak  thus,  my  friend." 

"  You  have  only  reached  faults  as 
yet,"  Valentine  said,  imperturbably  ; 
•'  but  take  care." 

"  Oh,  it  is  you  who  are  mad,  my 
friend,  to  say  such  things  to  me.  Be 
lieve  me,  however  great  my  love  for 
Ellen  may  be,  I  shall  never  forget  the 
duties  imposed  on  me  by  the  strange 
position  in  which  fate  has  placed  me." 

"  And  yet  for  a  month  you  have 
known  the  hiding-place  of  the  most  im 
placable  enemy  of  your  family,  and 
have  kept  it  a  profound  secret,  in  order 
to  satisfy  the  claims  of  a  passion  which 
can  only  have  a  disgraceful  result  for 
you  !  You  see  us  vainly  employing  all 
the  means  in  our  power  to  discover  the 
traces  of  our  enemy,  and  you  betray 
us  coldly,  deliberately,  for  the  sake  of 


32 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


a  few  love  phrases  which  you  find 
means  to  exchange  daily  with  a  girl, 
while  making  us  believe  that,  like  our 
selves,  you  are  engaged  in  fruitless  re 
searches.  What  name  will  you  give  to 
your  conduct  save  that  of  a  traitor?" 

"  Valentine,  you  insult  me,  the  friend 
ship  you  have  for  me  does  not  authorize 
you  to  act  thus  j  take  care,  for  patience 
has  its  limits." 

The  hunter  interrupted  him  by  a 
coarse  laugh. 

"  You  see  it,  boy,"  he  said  sternly, 
"  already  you  threaten  me." 

The  young  man  rolled  on  the  ground 
in  despair. 

"  Oh  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  1  have  suffer 
ed  enough." 

Valentine  looked  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment  with  tender  pity,  then  bent  over 
him,  and  touching  his  shoulder  : 

"  Listen  to  me,  Don  Pablo,"  he  said 
in  a  gentle  voice. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A     BACKWARD     GLANCE. 

WE  will  now  take  up  our  narrative 
at  the  point  where  we  left  it  at  the  con 
clusion  of  the  "  Pirates  of  the  Prai 
ries."  During  the  six  months  which 
had  elapsed  since  the  mournful  death  of 
Dona  Clara,  certain  events  have  taken 
place,  which  it  is  indispensable  for  the 
reader  to  know,  in  order  properly  to 
understand  the  following  story. 

He  will  probably  remember  that 
White  Gazelle  was  picked  up  in  a  faint 
ing  condition  by  Bloodson,  while  at  the 
side  of  the  old  pirate,  Sandoval.  He 
threw  the  girl  across  his  horse's  neek, 
and  started  at  full  speed  in  the  direction 
of  the  teocali,  which  served  him  as  a 
refuge  and  fortress.  We  will  follow 
these  two  important  persons,  whom  we 
reproach  ourselves  with  having  too  long 
neglected. 

Bloodson's  mad  course  was  frightfui 
to  look  on.  In  the  shadow  of  the  night 
the  horse  bounded  forward,  trampling 
beneath  its  nervous  hoofs  everything 
they  met,  while  its  outstretched  head 
cleft  the  air.  Us  ears  were  thrown 


back,  and  from  its  widely  opened  nos 
trils  issued  jets  of  steam  which  traced 
long  white  furrows  iu  the  gloom.  It 
dashed  forward,  uttering  snorts  of  pain, 
and  biting  between  its  clenched  teeth 
the  bossal  which  it  covered  with  foam, 
while  its  flanks,  torn  by  the  spurs  of 
its  impatient  rider,  dripped  with  blood 
and  perspiration.  But  the  faster  it 
went,  the  more  did  Bloodson  torment 
it,  and  seek  to  increase  its  speed. 

The  trees  and  rocks  disappeared  with 
marvellous  rapidity  on  either  side  the 
road,  and  White  Gazelle  was  presently 
restored  to  life  by  the  violent  shocks 
the  movements  of  the  horse  gave  to 
her  body.  Her  long  hair  trailed  in  the 
dust,  her  eyes,  raised  to  Heaven,  were 
bathed  in  tears  of  despair,  grief,  and 
impotence.  At  the  risking  of  fractur 
ing  her  skull  against  the  stones,  she 
made  useless  efforts  to  escape  from  the 
arms  of  her  ravisher,  but  the  latter 
fixed  on  her  a  glance  whose  passion  re 
vealed  a  ferocious  joy,  and  did  not  ap 
pear  to  notice  the  terror  he  caused  the 
girl,  or  rather  seemed  to  derive  from  it 
an  unspeakable  pleasure.  His  com 
pressed  lips  remained  silent,  only  al 
lowing  passage  at.  intervals  to  a  shrill 
whistle  intended  to  increase  the  ardor 
of  his  horse,  which,  exasperated  by  the 
pressure  of  its  rider,  seemed  no  longer 
to  touch  the  ground,  and  devoured  the 
space  like  the  fantastic  steed  in  the  bal 
lad  of  Lenore. 

Tne  girl  uttered  a  cry,  but  it  was  lost 
in  the  gloomy  echoes,  drowned  in  the 
sound  of  this  mad  chase.  And  the 
horse  still  galloped  on.  Suddenly 
White  Gazelle  collected  all  her 
strength,  and  bounded  forward  with 
such  vivacity,  that  her  feet  already 
touched  the  ground  ;  but  Bloodson  was 
on  his  guard,  and  ere  she  had  regained 
her  balance,  he  stooped  down  without 
checking  his  steed,  and  seizing  the  girl 
by  her  long  tresses,  lifted  her  up,  and 
placed  her  again  before  him.  A  sob 
burst  from  the  Gazelle's  chest,  and  she 
fainted  once  again. 

"  Ah,  you  shall  not  escape  me," 
Bloodson  yelled  ;  "  no  one  in  the  world 
can  tear  you  from  my  grasp." 

In  the  meanwhile  darkness  had  been 
succeeded  by  day  ;  the  sun  rose  iu  all 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


33 


its  splendor.  Myriads  of  birds  saluted 
the  return  of  light  by  their  joyous 
strains;  nature  hud  awakened  gaily, 
and  the  sky,  of  a  diaphanous  azure, 
promised  one  of  those  lovely  days, 
which  the  blessed  climate  of  these 
countries  has  alone  the  privilege  of  of- 
offering. 

A  fertile  landscape,  exquisitely  di 
versified,  stretched  out  on  either  side 
the  road,  and  blended  with  the  distant 
horizon.  The  girl's  body  hung  down 
the  side  of  the  horse,  following  unresist 
ingly  all  the  movements  imparted  to  it; 
with  her  face  covered  with  a  livid  pale 
ness,  half  opened  lips,  clenched  teeth, 
uncovered  bosom  and  panting  chest,  she 
palpitated  under  BJoodson's  hand,  which 
pressed  heavily  upon  her. 

At  length,  they  reached  a  cavern, 
where  were  encamped  some  forty  In 
dians,  armed  for  war;  these  were  Blood- 
son's  companions.  He  made  them  a 
sign,  and  a  horse  was  brought  to  him ; 
it  was  high  time,  for  the  one  he  rode 
had  scarce  stopped  ere  it  fell,  pouring 
furth  black  blood  from  its  nostrils, 
mouth,  and  ears.  Bloodson  mounted, 
took  the  girl  before  him,  and  started 
again. 

"To  the  Hacienda  Quemada  (the 
burnt  farm),"  he  shouted. 

The  Indians,  who  doubtless  were  only 
awaiting  their  chief's  arrival,  followed 
his  example,  and  soon  the  whole  band, 
with  ihe  stranger  at  their  head,  galloped 
along,  hidden  by  the  dense  cloud  of 
dust  they  raised.  After  five  hours' 
ride,  whose  speed  surpasses  all  descrip 
tion,  the  Indians  saw  the  tall  steeples 
of  a  town  standing  out  in  the  azure  of 
the  horizon,  beneath  a  mass  of  smoke 
and  vapor.  Bloodson  and  his  band  had 
left  the  Far  West. 

The  Indians  turned  slightly  to  the 
left,  galloping  across  fields,  and  tramp 
ling  under  their  horses'  hoofs,  with 
wicked  iiiry,  the  rich  crops  that  covered 
them.  At  the  expiration  of  about  half 
an  hour,  they  reached  the  base  of  a  lofty 
hill,  which  rose  solitary  in  the  plain. 

"  Wait  for  me  here,"  said  Bloodson, 
as  he  checked  his  horse;  "whatever 
happens,  do  not  stir  till  my  return." 

The  Indians  bowed  in  obedience,  and 
Bloodson,  burying  his  spurs  in  his 
3 


horse's  flanks,  started  again  at  full 
speed.  But  this  ride  was  not  long. 
When  Bloodson  had  disappeared  from 
his  comrades'  sight,  he  stopped  his 
horse  and  dismounted.  After  removing 
the  bridle  to  let  the  animal  browze 
freely  on  the  thick  and  tall  grass  of  the 
plain,  the  stranger  raised  in  his  arms 
the  girl  whom  he  had  laid  on  the  ground, 
where  she  remained  senseless,  and  be 
gan  slowly  scaling  the  hill  side. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  birds  salute 
with  their  parting  strains  the  sun,  whose 
disc,  already  beneath  the  horizon,  shed 
around  only  oblique  and  torpid  beams. 
The  shadow  was  rapidly  invading  the 
sky  ;  the  wind  was  rising  with  moment 
arily  increasing  violence,  the  heat  was 
oppressive,  large  blackish  clouds,  fring 
ed  with  grey  and  borne  by  the  breeze, 
chased  heavily  athwart  the  sky,  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  earth.  In  a 
word,  all  foreboded  one  of  those  hurri 
canes  such  as  are  only  seen  in  these 
countries,  and  which  make  the  most  in 
trepid  men  turn  pale  with  terror. 

Bloodson  still  ascended,  bearing  the 
girl  in  his  arms,  whose  lifeless  head 
hung  over  his  shoulder.  4  Drops  of  luke 
warm  rain,  large  as  dollars,  had  begun 
to  fall  at  intervals,  and  spotted  the 
earth,  which  immediately  drank  them 
up ;  a  sharp  and  penetrating  odor  ex 
haled  from  the  ground  and  impregnated 
the  atmosphere. 

But  Bloodson  still  went  up  with  the 
same  firm  step,  his  head  drooping  and 
eyebrows  contracted.  At  length  he 
reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  when  he 
stopped  and  bent  a  searching  glance 
around.  At  this  moment,  a  dazzling 
flash  shot  athwart  the  sky,  illuminating 
the  landscape  with  a  bluish  tint,  and 
the  thunder  burst  forth  furiously. 

"  Oh !"  Bloodson  muttered  with  a 
sinister  accent,  and  as  if  answering  aloud 
an  internal  thought,  "  nature  is  harmon 
ising  with  the  scene  about  to  take  place 
here ;  but  the  storm  of  heaven  is  not 
so  terrible  as  the  one  growling  in  my 
heart.  Come,  come !  I  only  needed 
this  fearful  melody.  I  am  the  avenger, 
and  am  about  to  accomplish  the  demo 
niacal  task  which  I  imposed  on  myself 
during  a  night  of  delirium." 

After  uttering  these  ill-omened  words, 


34 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


he  continued  his  progress,  proceeding 
toward  a  pile  of  half-calcined  stones, 
whose  black  points  stood  out  of  the  tall 
grass  a  short  distance  off.  The  top 
of  the  hill  where  Bloodson  was,  offered 
a  scene  of  inexpressible  savageness. 
Through  the  tufts  of  grass  might  be 
noticed  ruins  blackened  by  fire,  pieces 
of  wall,  and  vaults  half  broken  in.  Here 
and  there  were  fruit  trees,  dahlias, 
cedars,  and  a  noria  or  well,  whose  long 
pole  still  bore  at  one  end  the  remains 
of  the  leathern  bucket  once  employed 
to  draw  water. 

In  the  centre  of  the  ruins  stood  a 
large  wooden  cross,  marking  the  site  of 
a  tomb ;  at  the  foot  of  this  cross  were 
piled  up,  with  ghastly  symmetry,  some 
twenty  grinning  skulls,  to  which  the 
rain,  wind,  and  sun  had  given  the  lustre 
and  yellowish  tinge  of  ivory.  Round 
the  tomb,  snakes  and  lizards,  those 
guests  of  sepulchres,  silently  glided 
through  the  grass,  watching  with  their 
round  and  startled  eyes  the  stranger 
who  dared  to  disturb  their  solitude. 
Not  far  from  the  tomb,  a  species  of 
bhed,  made  of  interlaced  reeds,  was  I  all- 
ing  to  ruin,  but  still  offered  a  scanty 
shelter  to  travelers  surprised  by  a 
storm.  It  was  toward  this  shed  that 
Bloodson  proceeded. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  reached  it,  and 
was  thus  sheltered  from  the  rain,  wliich 
a*  this  moment  fell  in  torrents.  The 
storm  had  reached  the  height  of  its  fury 
— the  flushes  succeeded  each  other  un 
interruptedly  ;  the  thunder  rolled  furi 
ously,  and  the  wind  violently  lashed 
the  trees.  It  was,  in  a  word,  one  of 
those  awful  nights  on  which  deeds  with 
out  a  name,  which  the  sun  will  not  illu 
mine  with  its  brilliant  beams,  are  ac 
complished. 

Bloodson  laid  the  girl  on  a  pile  of 
dry  leaves  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the 
shed,  and  after  gazing  on  her  attentive 
ly  for  some  seconds,  he  folded  his  arms 
on  his  chest,  frowned,  and  began  walk 
ing  up  and  down,  muttering  unconnected 
sentences.  Each  time  he  passed  before 
the  maiden,  he  stopped,  bent  on  her  a 
glance  of  undefinable  meaning,  and  re- 
burned  his  walk  with  a  shake  of  his 
head. 

"  Come,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  I  must 


finish  it!  What!  that  girl,  so  strong 
and  robust,  lies  there,  pale,  worn  out, 
half  dead.  Why  is  it  not  lied  Cedar 
that  I  hold  thus  beneath  my  heel  ? — but 
patience,  his  turn  will  come,  and 
then  !"  ' 

A  sardonic  smile  played  round  his 
lips,  and  he  bent  over  the  girl.  lie 
gently  raised  her  head,  and  was  about 
to  rrfake  her  smell  a  bottle  he  had  taken 
from  her  girdle,  when  he  suddenly  lek 
her  fall  on  her  bed  of  leaves,  and  rush 
ed  away,  uttering  a  cry  of  terror. 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  possi 
ble  :  I  am  mistaken,  it  is  an  illusion,  a 
dream." 

After  a  moments'  hesitation,  he  re 
turned  to  the  girl,  and  bent  over  her 
again.  But  this  time  his  manner  had 
completely  changed :  though  he  had 
been  rough  and  brutal  previously,  he 
was  now  full  of  attention  to  her.  Dur 
ing  the  various  events  to  which  White 
Gazelle  had  been  the  victim,  some  of 
the  diamond  buttons  which  fastened  her 
vest  had  been  torn  off,  and  exposed 
her  bosom. 

Bloodson  had  noticed  a  black  velvet 
scapulary,  on  which  two  interlaced  let 
ters  were  embroidered  in  silver,  sus 
pended  round  her  neck  by  a  thin  gold 
chain.  It  was  the  sight  of  this  rnys- 
sterious  cypher  which  caused  Bloodson 
the  violent  emotion  from  which  he  was 
now  suffering. 

He  seized  the  scapulary  with  a  hand 
trembling  with  impatience,  broke  the 
chain,  and  waited  till  a  flash  enabled 
him  to  see  the  cypher  a  second  time, 
and  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  de 
ceived.  He  had  not  long  to  wait : 
within  a  few  seconds  a  dazzling  flash 
illumined  the  hill.  Bloodson  looked, 
and  was  convinced  :  the  cypher  was 
really  the  one  he  fancied  he  had  seen. 
He  fell  to  the  ground,  buried  his  head 
in  his  hands,  and  reflected  profoundly. 
Half  an  hour  passed  ere  this  man  em 
erged  from  his  statue-like  immobility ; 
when  he  raised  his  head,  tears  were 
coursing  down  his  bronzed  cheeks. 

"Oil!  this  doubt  is  frightful!"  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  at  nil  risks  I  will  remove 
it :  1  must  know  what  I  have  to  hope." 

And  drawing  himself  up  haughtily  to 
his  full  height,  he  walked  with  a  firm 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


35 


and  steady  step  toward  the  girl,  who 
still  lay  motionless.  Then,  as  we  saw 
him  once  before  with  Shaw,  he  employ 
ed  the  same  method  which  had  been  so 
successful  with  the  young  man,  in  order 
to  recal  White  Gazelle  to  life.  But  the 
poor  girl  had  been  subjected  to  such 
rude  trials  during  the  last  two  days, 
that  she  was  quite  exhausted.  In  spite 
of  Bloodson's  eager  care,  she  still  re 
tained  her  terrible  corpse-like  rigidity  : 
all  remedies  were  powerless.  The 
stranger  was  in  despair  at  the  unsatis 
factory  results  of  his  attempts  to  recal 
the  girl  to  life. 

"  Oh  !"  he  exclaimed  at  each  instant, 
"  she  cannot  be  dead:  Heaven  .will  not 
permit  it.1' 

And  he  began  again  employing  the 
measures  whose  futility  had  been  prov 
ed  to  him.  All  at  once  he  smote  his 
forehead  violently. 

"  [  must  be  mad,"  he  exclaimed. 

And  searching  in  his  pocket,  he  drew 
from  it  a  crystal  flask,  filled  with  a 
blood-red  liquor;  he  opened  with  his 
dagger  the  girl's  teeth,  and  let  two 
drops  of  the  fluid  fall  into  her  mouth. 
The  effect  was  instantaneous  :  White 
Gazelle's  features  relaxed,  a  pinky  hue 
covered  her  face ;  she  faintly  opened 
her  eyes,  and  murmured  in  a  weak 
voice ; 

"  Good  Heaven  !  where  am  I  ?" 

"She  is  saved?"  Bloodson  exclaimed 
with  a  sigh  of  joy,  as  he  wiped  away 
the  perspiration  that  ran  down  his  fore 
head.  In  the  meanwhile  the  storm  had 
attained  its  utmost  fury  ;  the  wind  furi 
ously  shook  the  wretched  shed,  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents,  and  the  thunder  burst 
forth  with  a  terrible  din. 

"  A  fine  night  for  a  recognition !" 
Bloodsou  muttered. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     HACIENDA.    QUEMADA. 

IT  was  a  strange  group  formed  by 
this  charming  creature  and  this  rough 
woodranger,  at  the  top  of  this  devastat 
ed  hill,  troubled  by  the  thunder,  and  il 
lumined  by  the  corruscating  lightning. 

White  Gazelle  had  fallen  back  again, 
pale  and  inanimate.  Bloodson  gazed 
out  into  the  night,  and  re-assured  by  the 
silence,  bent  a  second  time  over  the 
girl.  Pallid  as  an  exquisite  lily  laid 
prostrate  by  the  tempest,  the  poor 
child  seemed  scarce  to  breathe.  Blood- 
son  raised  her  in  his  nervous  arms,  and 
bore  her  to  a  piece  of  broken  wall,  at 
the  foot  of  which  he  laid  his  zarape, 
and  placed  her  on  this  softer  couch.  The 
girl's  head  hung  senseless  on  his  shoul 
der.  Then  he  gazed  at  her  for  a  long 
time:  grief  and  pity  were  painted  on 
Bioodson's  face. 

He,  whose  life  had  hitherto  been  but 
one  long  tragedy,  who  had  no  belief  in 
his  heart,  who  was  ignorant  of  softer 
feelings  and  sweet  sympathies;  he,  the 
avenger  and  slayer  of  the  Indians,  was 
affected,  and  felt  something  new  stirring 
within  him.  Tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !"  he  exclaimed  anxi 
ously,  "  can  she  be  dead  1  Yes,"  he  ad 
ded,  "  I  was  cowardly  and  cruel  toward 
this  poor  creature,  and  God  punishes 
me." 

The  name,  which  he  only  used  to 
blaspheme,  he  now  pronounced  almost 
with  respect ;  it  was  a  species  of 
prayer,  a  cry  from  his  heart.  This  in 
domitable  man  was  at  length  conquer 
ed,  he  believed. 

"  How  to  help  her  1"  he  asked  him 
self. 

The  rain  that  continued  to  fall  in  tor 
rents,  and  inundated  the  girl,  at  length 
recalled  her  to  life  ;  she  partly  opened 
her  eyes,  and  muttered  softly  : 

"  Where  am  11  what  has  happened] 
oh,  I  fancied  I  was  dying." 

"  She  speaks,  she  lives,  she  is  saved," 
Bloodson  exclaimed. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  she  asked,  as  she 
raised  herself  with  difficulty. 

At  the  sight  of  the  hunter's  bronzed 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


face,  she  was  frightened,  closed  her  eyes 
again,  and  fell  back.  She  was  begin 
ning  to  remember. 

"  Take  courage,  my  child,"  Bloodson 
said  softening  his  rough  voice,  "  I  am 
your  friend." 

"  You  my  friend  !"  she  exclaimed, 
"  what  means  that  word  on  your  lips  ?" 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,  I  was  mad,  I  knew 
not  what  I  did." 

"  Pardon  you,  why  ?  am  I  not  born 
to  sorrow  ?" 

"  What  must  she  have  endured  ?" 
Bloodson  muttered. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  continued,  speaking 
as  in  a  dream.  "I  have  suffered  great 
ly.  My  life,  though  I  am  still  very 
young,  has,  up  to  the  present,  been  one 
long  suffering ;  still,  I  can  remember 
having  been  happy  once — long,  long 
ago.  But  the  worst  pain  in  this  world 
is  the  remembrance  of  happiness  in 
misfortune." 

A  sigh  escaped  from  her  overladen 
chest,  she  let  her  head  fall  in  her  hands, 
and  wept.  Bloodson  listened  to  and 
gazed  on  her  ;  this  voice,  these  features, 
all  he  saw  and  heard  augmented  the 
suspicions  in  his  heart,  and  gradually 
converted  them  into  certainty. 

"  Oh,  speak — speak  again  !"  he  con 
tinued,  tenderly  ;  "  what  do  you  re 
member  of  your  youthful  years  ?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  and  a  bitter 
smile  curled  her  lips. 

"  Why,  in  misery,  think  of  past 
joys'?"  she  said,  shaking  her  head 
mournfully  ;  "  why  should  I  tell  you 
of  these  things — you,  above  all,  who 
are  my  direst  enemy  ?  do  you  wish  to 
inflict  fresh  tortures  on  me  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  he  said,  with  horror,  "  can 
you  have  such  thoughts  ?  Alas !  1 
have  been  very  guilty  toward  you,  I  al 
low  it,  but  pardon  me — pardon  me,  j 
conjure  you !  I  would  lay  down  my  life 
to  spare  you  any  pain." 

White  Gazelle  regarded  with  amaze 
ment,  mingled  with  terror,  this  rough 
man,  almost  prostrate  before  her,  and 
whose  face  was  bathed  in  tears.  She 
did  not  understand  his  remarks  after 
the  way  in  which  he  had  hitherto  act- . 
ed  towards  her. 

"  Alas  !"  she  murmured,  "  my  life  is 
that  of  all  unfortunate  beings  :  there 


was  a  time  when,  like  other  chil 
dren,  I  had  the  songs  of  birds  to  lull 
me  to  sleep,  and  flowers  that  smiled  on 
me  when  I  awoke  ;  I  had,  too,  a  sister 
who  shared  in  my  sports,  and  a  mother, 
who  loved  and  embraced  me.  All 
that  has  fled  forever." 

Bloodson  put  up  two  poles,  on  which 
he  suspended  sking  to  shelter  the  girl 
from  the  storm,  which  was  gradually 
clearing  off.  She  watched  him  as  he 
did  so. 

"1  do  not  know,"  she  said,  sadly, 
"  why  I  feel  a  necessity  to  tell  you  all 
this,  when  you  have  done  me  so  much 
harm  ;  whence  comes  the  feeling  whi 
the  sight  of  you  produces  in  me  ?  I 
ought  to  hate  you." 

She  did  not  complete  the  sentence, 
but  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing 
violently. 

"  It  is  Heaven  which  permits  it  to  be 
so,  poor  child,"  Bloodson  replied,  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  upward,  and  fervently 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said,  softly  ; 
"  well,  listen  ;  whatever  may  happen, 
I  wish  to  relieve  my  heart.  One  day  I 
was  playing  on  my  mother's  knees,  my 
father  was  near  us  with  my  sister  ;  all 
at  once  a  terrible  yell  was  heard  at  the 
gate  of  our  hacienda;  the  Apache  Indians 
were  attacking  us.  My  father  was  a 
resolute  man,  he  seized  his  weapons, 
and  rushed  to  the  walls.  What  hap 
pened  then  ?  I  cannot  tell  you.  1  was 
hardly  four  years  of  age  at  this  time, 
and  the  terrible  scene  1  witnessed  is  en 
veloped  within  my  mind  in  a  blood 
stained  cloud.  1  can  only  remember 
how  my  mother,  who  wept  as  she  em 
braced  us  both,  suddenly  fell  upon  us, 
covering  us  with  blood ;  in  vain  did  I 
try  to  recal  her  to  life  by  my  caresses 
— she  was  dead." 

There  was  a  silence.  Bloodson  lis 
tened  eagerly  to  this  story  with  pallid 
face,  frowning  brow,  convulsively  press 
ing  the  barrel  of  his  rifle,  and  wiping 
away  at  intervals  the  perspiration  that 
poured  down  his  face. 

"  Go  on,  child,"  he  muttered. 

"1  remember  nothing  further;  men 
resembling  demons  rushed  iiito  the 
hacienda,  seized  my  sister  and  myself, 
and  set  out  at  the  full  speed  of  their 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


37 


horses.  Alas,  since  that  period  I  have 
never  again  seen  my  mother's  sweet 
face,  or  my  father's  kindly  smile ; 
henceforth  I  was  alone  among  the  ban 
dits  who  carried  me  off." 

"  But  your  sister,  girl,  your  sister, 
what  became  of  her  ?'' 

"  I  do  not  know ;  a  violent  quarrel 
broke  out  among  our  ravishers,  and 
blood  was  shed.  After  this  quarrel 
they  separated.  My  sister  was  taken 
in  one  direction,  I  in  another,  I  never 
saw  her  again." 

Bloodson  seemed  to  make  an  effort 
over  himself,  then  fixing  his  tear-laden 
eyes  on  her,  he  exclaimed,  fervently  : 

"  Mercedes  !  Mercedes  !  it  is  really 
you  ?  do  I  find,  you  again  after  so  many 
years  ?" 

White  Gazelle  raised  her  head 
quickly. 

"  Mercedes,"  she  repeated,  "  that  is 
the  name  my  mother  gave  me." 

"  It  is  1,  I,  Stefano,  your  uncle ! 
your  father's  brother  !"  Bloodson  said, 
as  he  pressed  her,  almost  mad  with 
joy,  to  his  breast. 

"  Stefano !  my  uncle  !  Yes,  yes,  I 
remember — I  know." 

She  fell  lifeless  in  Bloodson's  arms. 

"  Wretch  that  I  am,  I  have  killed 
her — Mercedes,  my  beloved  child,  come 
to  yourself!" 

The  girl  opened  her  eyes  again,  and 
threw  herself  on  Bloodson's  neck, 
weeping  with  joy. 

"  Oh,  my  uncle  !  my  uncle  !  I  have 
a  family  at  last,  then.  Thank  God  !" 

The  hunter's  face  became  grave. 

"  You  are  right,  child,"  he  said, 
"  thank  God,  for  it  is  He  who  has  done 
everything,  and  who  decreed  that  I 
should  find  you  again  on  the  tomb  of 
those  whom  we  have  both  been  lament 
ing  for  so  many  years." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  uncle  ?"  she 
asked,  in  surprise. 

"  Follow  me,  girl,"  the  wood-ranger 
replied ;  "  follow  me,  and  you  shall 
know." 

The  girl  rose  with  difficulty,  leant  on 
his  arm,  and  followed  him.  By  the 
accent  of  Don  Stefano's  voice,  Mer 
cedes  understood  that  her  uncle  had  an 
important  revelation  to  make  her. 
They  found  some  difficulty  in  walking 


through  the  ruins,  obstructed  with 
grass  and  creepers,  but  at  length  reach 
ed  the  cross,  where  Bloodson  stopped. 

"  On  your  knees,  Mercedes,"  he  said 
in  a  mournful  voice  ;  "on  this  spot  your 
father  and  mother  were  buried  by  me 
fifteen  years  ago,  on  such  a  night  as 
this." 

The  girl  fell  on  her  knees  without  re 
plying,  and  Don  Stefano  imitated  her. 
Both  prayed  for  a  long  time  with  tears 
and  sobs,  and  then  they  rose  again. 
Bloodson  made  his  niece  a  sign  to  sit 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  placed 
himself  by  her,  and  after  passing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead  as  if  to  collect 
his  thoughts,  he  spoke  in  a  dull  voice, 
with  an  accent  which,  in  spite  of  all 
his  resolution,  sorrow  caused  to  trem 
ble. 

"  Listen  to  me,  child,"  he  s:iid,  "  for 
what  you  are  about  to  hear  will  per 
haps  help  us  to  find  the  murderers  of 
your  parents,  if  they  still  live." 

"  Speak,  uncle,"  she  said  in  a  firm 
voice ;  "  yes,  you  are  right :  Heaven 
willed  it  that  our  meeting  should  take 
place  thus.  Be  assured  that  the  mur 
derers  will  not  be  suffered  to  go  much 
longer  unpunished." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Don  Stefano  ;  "  for 
fifteen  years  I  have  been  awaiting  the 
hour  of  vengeance.  Heaven  will  sus 
tain  me,  I  hope,  till  the  moment  when, 
it  strikes.  Your  father  and  I  resided 
at  the  spot  where  we  now  are.  This 
hill  was  occupied  by  a  vast  hacienda, 
which  we  built ;  the  surrounding  fields 
belonging  to  us,  and  were  cleared  by 
two  hundred  persons  in  our  pay.  Hea 
ven  blessed  our  labor,  which  prospered  ; 
everybody  loved  and  respected  us 
around,  for  our  abode  was  always  open, 
to  those  whom  misfortune  struck.  But 
if  our  countrymen  esteemed  us  and  ap 
plauded  our  efforts,  the  owners  of  an. 
adjoining  hacienda  had  vowed  us  an  im 
placable  hatred.  For  what  reason? 
that  I  never  succeeded  in  discovering. 
Was  it  jealousy  or  base  envy  ?  In  any 
case  these  men  hated  us.  There  were 
three  of  them,  and  they  did  not  belong 
to  the  Spanish  race ;  they  were  North 
Americans,  or,  at  any  rate,  I  can  for 
certainty  say  one  of  them,  of  the  name 
of  Wiikes,  was  so.  Slill,  although  the 


38 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


hatred  that  kept  us  apart  was  fierce,  it 
was  dull,  and  nothing  led  to  the  suppo 
sition  that  it  would  ever  burst  into  life. 
About  this  time,  important  business 
compelled  me  to  take  a  journey  of  sev 
eral  days.  Your  father,  poor  child,  and 
myself,  could  not  separate,  for  a  secret 
presentiment  seemed  to  warn  us. 
When  I  returned,  the  hacienda  was  ut 
terly  destroyed,  and  only  a  few  pieces 
of  the  walls  still  smoked.  My  brother 
and  our  whole  family,  as  well  as  the 
servants,  had  been  murdered." 

Bloodson  stopped. 

"  Terminate  this  sad  story,  uncle," 
the  girl  said,  hastily,  "I  must  know  all, 
in  order  to  take  my  share  of  the  ven 
geance." 

"That  is  true,"  Don  Stefano  replied  ; 
"  but  I  have  little  more  to  say,  and 
will  be  brief.  During  a  whole  night  I 
traversed  these  smoky  ruins,  seeking 
the  corpses  of  those  I  loved  ;  and  when, 
after  infinite  difficulty,  I  succeeded  in 
finding  them,  I  interred  them  piously, 
and  took  an  oath  to  avenge  them  over 
their  tomb.  This  oath  I  have  religious 
ly  kept  during  fifteen  years;  unhappily, 
though  I  have  punished  many  culprits, 
up  to  the  present  the  leaders  have  es 
caped  me  by  some  extraordinary  fatal 
ity.  Your  father,  whom  I  found  dying, 
expired  in  my  arms  ere  he  was  able  to 
tell  me  his  assassins ;  and  though  1 
have  strong  grounds  for  accusing  Wilkes 
and  his  companions,  no  proof  has  yet 
corroborated  my  suspicions,  and  the 
names  of  the  villains  are  unknown  to 
me.  It  was  only  the  day  before  yester 
day,  when  the  scoundrel  Sandoval  fell, 
that  I  fancied  I  had  discovered  one  of 
them  at  last." 

"  You  were  not  mistaken,  uncle  ;  that 
man  was  really  one  of  our  ravishers," 
Mercedes  replied,  in  a  firm  voice. 

"And  the  others'?"  Don  Stefano 
quickly  asked. 

"  I  know  them,  uncle." 

At  this  revelation,  Don  Stefano  ut 
tered  a  cry  that  resembled  the  howl  of 
a  wild  beast. 

"  At  last !"  he  exclaimed,  with  such 
an  outburst  of  fury,  that  the  girl  was 
almost  terrified. 

"  And  now,  dear  uncle,"  she  went  on, 
"permit  me  to  ask  you  one  question, 


after  which  I  will  answer  yours,  if  you 
have  any  to  ask." 

"  Speak,  child." 

"  Why  did  you  seize  me  and  bring 
me  here  ?" 

"  Because  I  fancied  you  the  daughter 
of  that  Sandoval,  and  wished  to  immo 
late  you  on  the  tomb  of  his  victims," 
Bloodson  answered,  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  Did  you  not  hear,  then,  what  the 
man  said  to  me  ?" 

"  No ;  seeing  you  bent  over  him,  I 
thought  you  were  watching  him  die. 
Your  fainting-fit,  which  I  attributed  to 
sorrow,  only  augmented  my  certainty  ; 
that  is  why  I  rushed  on  you  so  soon  as 
I  saw  you  fall." 

"  But  the  letter  you  took  from  me 
would  have  revealed  all  to  you." 

"Do  you  think,  then,  child,  I  took 
the  trouble  to  read  it?  No,  I  only  re 
cognized  you  by  the  scapulary  hung 
round  your  neck." 

"  The  finger  of  God  is  in  all  this," 
the  girl  said,  with  an  accent  of  convic 
tion  ;  "  it  was  really,  He  who  directed  it 
all." 

"  Now  it  is  your  turn,  Mercedes ; 
tell  me  who  the  assassins  are." 

"  Give  me  the  letter  first,  uncle." 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  handing  it  to 
her. 

The  girl  snatched  it  and  tore  it  into 
the  minutest  fragments.  Bloodson  saw 
her  do  it  without  understanding  her 
motive ;  when  the  last  piece  of  paper 
was  borne  away  by  the  breeze,  the  girl 
turned  to  her  uncle. 

"  You  wish  to  know  the  names  of  the 
assassins  of  my  father,  you  say,  uncle  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  determined  that  the  venge 
ance  you  have  been  pursuing  so  long 
shall  not  escape  you,  now  that,  you  are 
on  the  point  of  obtaining  it,  and  you 
wish  to  carry  out  your  oath  1^,0  the 
end  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  why  all  these  questions  ?" 
he  asked,  impatiently. 

"I  will  tell  you,  uncle,"  she  replied, 
as  she  drew  herself  up  with  strange  re 
solution  ;  "  I,  too,  have  also  taken  an 
oath,  and  do  not  wish  to  break  it." 

"  What  is  its  nature  ?" 

"  To  avenge  my  father  and  mother , 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


39 


but  to  accomplish  it  I  must  be  free  to 
act  as  I  think  proper,  and  hence  I  will 
not  repeal  those  means  to  you  till  tlie 
time  arrives ;  to-day  I  cannot  do  it." 

Such  resolution  flashed  in  the  girl's 
jet-black  eye,  that  Bloodson  did  not  at 
tempt  to  induce  her  to  do  what  he 
desired  ;  he  understood  that  any  press 
ing  on  his  part  would  be  useless. 

"  Very  good,"  he  answered,  "  be  it 
so  ;  but  you  swore  to  me " 

"  That  you  shall  know  all  when  the 
moment  arrives,"  she  said,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  right  hand  to  the 
cross. 

"  Your  word  is  enough ;  but  may  I 
at  least  know  what  you  intend  doing1?" 

"  Up  to  a  certain  point  you  may." 

"  Go  on." 

"  You  have  a  horse  ?" 

"At  the  foot  of  the  hill." 

"  Bring  it  to  me,  uncle,  and  let  me 
start ;  before  all,  let  uo  one  know  the 
ties  that  unite  us." 

"I  will  be  dumb." 

"  If  ever  you  see  or  hear  anything 
c  nnected  with  me,  believe  nothing, 
feel  surprised  at  nothing  ;  say  to  your 
self  that  1  am  acting  on  behalf  of  our 
common  vengeance,  for  that  alone  will 
be  true." 

Don  Stefano  shook  his  head,  and 
said  : 

"  You  are  very  young,  child,  for  so 
rude  a  task." 

"  Heaven  will  help  me,  uncle,"  she 
replied,  with  a  flashing  glance  ;  "  the 
task  is  just  and  holy,  for  1  desire  to 
punish  my  father's  assassins." 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  your  will 
be  done :  as  you  have  said,  it  is  a 
holy  task,  and  1  have  no  right  to 
prevent  you  accomplishing  it." 

"  Thanks,  uncle,"  the  girl  said,  feel 
ingly  ;  "  and  now,  while  1  pray  at  my 
father's  tomb,  do  you  fetch  me  your 
horse,  that  I  may  set  out  without  de 
lay."' 

Bloodson  retired  without  answering, 
and  the  girl  fell  on  her  knees  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross.  Half  an  hour  later, 
after  tenderly  embracing  Don.  Ste 
fano,.  she  mounted  the  horse,  and 
started  at  a  gallop  in  the  direction 
of  the  Far  \Ve3t.  Bloodson  followed 
her  as  long  as  it  was  possible  for 


him  to  see  her  in  the  darkness,  and, 
when  she  had  disappeared,  he  fell 
on  the  tomb  on  his  knees,  mutter 
ing  in  a  hollow  voice : 

"  Will  she  succeed  ?  who  knows  V' 
he  added  with  an  accent  impossible  to 
describe.  " 

He  prayed  till  day,  but  with  the 
first  beams  of  the  sun  he  joined  his 
comrades,  and  returned  with  them  to 
the  Far  West. 


CHAPTER     VI. 

THE     APACHES. 

AT  the  shot  fired  by  Pedro  Sando- 
val,  after  the  fashion  of  a  peroration 
to  his  too  lengthened  story,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  Apaches,  who  had  hither 
to  kept  out  of  earshot,  ran  up  at  full 
speed.  Red  Cedar  hurried  in  pursuit 
of  Bloodson,  but  uselessly  ;  he  could 
not  catch  up  to  him,  and  was  compelled 
to  rejoin  his  comrades.  The  latter 
were  already  making  preparations  to 
bury  the  old  pirate,  whose  body  they 
could  not  leave  to  be  devoured  by  the 
wild  beasts  and  birds  of  prey.  Sando- 
val  was  a  great  favorite  of  the  Apa 
ches,  with  whom  he  had  lived  a  long 
time,  and  they  had  on  many  occa 
sions,  been  able  to  appreciate  his  cour 
age  and  marauding  talents. 

Stanapat  had  assembled  his  band,  and 
was  at  the  head  of  a  certain  number  of 
resolute  warriors,  whom  he  divided 
into  two  parties,  and  then  approached 
Red  Cedar. 

"  Will  my  brother  listen  to  the 
words  of  a  friend  ?"  he  said. 

"  My  father  can  speak  ;  although  my 
heart  is  very  sad,  my  ears  are  open," 
the  squatter  answered. 

"  Good,"  the  chief  continued  ;  "  my 
brother  will  take  a  party  of  my  young 
men,  and  put  himself  on  the  trail  of 
the  pale-faces,  while  I  pay  the  white 
warrior  the  duties  proper  for  him." 

"  Can  I  thus  leave  a  friend,  before  his 
body  is  placed  in  the  ground  ]" 

"  My  brother  knows  what  he  ought 
to  do,  but  the  pale-faces  are  rapidly  re 
tiring." 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"You  are  right,  chief;  I  go,  but  I 
leave  you  rny  warriors — my  comrades 
•will  be  sufficient  for  me.  Where  shall 
1  find  you  again  ?" 

"  At  Bloodson's  teocali." 

"  Good ;  will  my  brother  soon  be 
there  ?" 

"  In  two  days." 

"  The  second  sun  will  find  me  with 
all  my  warriors  by  the  side  of  the 
sachem." 

Stanapat  bowed  in  reply  :  Red  Cedar 
approached  the  corpse  of  Sandoval, 
bent  down,  and  seized  his  frigid  hand. 

"  Farewell,  brother,"  he  said,  "  par 
don  me  for  not  being  present  at  your 
funeral,  but  an  important  duty  claims 
me  ;  I  am  going  to  avenge  you.  Fare 
well,  my  old  comrade,  rest  in  peace, 
your  enemies  will  not  live  many  days 
— farewell  !" 

After  this  funeral  oration,  the  squat 
ter  gave  his  comrades  a  signal,  bowed 
once  again  to  Stanapat,  and  started  at  a 
gallop,  followed  by  the  other  pirates. 
When  their  allies  were  out  of  sight,  the 
Apaches  begun  the  funeral  ceremony, 
\vhich  had  been  interrupted  by  the  con 
versation  between  their  chief  and  the 
pirate.  Stanapat  ordered  the  corpse  to 
be  washed,  the  face  painted  of  various 
colors,  while  the  other  Indians  sur 
rounded  it,  bewailing.  Some,  whose 
grief  was  more  powerful  or  exaggerat 
ed,  made  incisions  in  their  arms,  or 
chopped  off  a  joint  of  one  of  the  left 
hand  fingers,  in  sign  of  morning. 
When  ail  was  ready,  the  sachem  placed 
himself  by  tl^e  head  of  the  corpse,  and 
addressing  the  company,  said  : 

"  Why  do  you  weep?  why  do  you 
lament  ?  See,  1  do  not  weep ;  I,  his 
oldest  and  most  devoted  friend.  He 
has  gone  to  the  other  land,  the  Wacon- 
dah  has  recalled  him;  but  if  we  cannot 
bring  him  back  among  us,  our  duty  is 
to  avenge  him.  The  pale-faces  have 
killed  him,  we  will  kill  as  many  pale 
faces  as  we  can,  in  order  that  they  may 
accompany  him,  and  wait  on  him,  and 
that  he  may  enter  the  presence  of  the 
Wacondah  as  a  great  warrior  should 
appear.  Death  to  the  pale-faces  !" 

"  Death  to  the  pule-fac^s !"  the  In 
dians  shouted,  brandishing  their  wea 
pons. 


The  chief  turned  his  head  away,  and 
a  smile  of  contempt  curled  his  thin  lips 
at  this  enthusiastic  explosion,  B,ut  this 
smile  lasted  no  longer  than  a  lightning 
flash.  Reassuming  at  once,  the  Indian 
stoicism,  Stanapat,  with  all  the  decorum 
customary  on  such  occasions,  clothed 
the  body  in  the  richest  robes  to  be 
found,  and  the  handsomest  blankets. 
The  corpse  was  then  placed  in  a  sitting 
posture,  in  the  grave  dug  for  it,  whose 
bottom  and  sides  had  been  lined  with 
wood ;  a  whip,  weapons,  and  some 
other  articles  were  added,  then  the 
earth  was  thrown  in,  and  the  whole 
covered  with  heavy  stones  so  that  the 
coyotes  could  not  pull  out  the  body. 
This  duty  accomplished,  at  a  signal 
from  their  chief  the  Apaches  remounted 
their  horses,  and  started  at  a  gallop  on 
the  road  leading  to  Blcodson's  teocali, 
thinking  no  more  of  the  comrade  from 
whom  they  had  separated  for  ever,  than 
if  he  had  never  existed. 

The  Apaches  marched  for  three 
days ;  at  the  evening  of  the  fourth,  af 
ter  a  fatiguing  day  across  the  sands, 
they  halted  at  about  a  league  from  the 
Rio  Gila,  in  a  thick  wood,  where  they 
hid  themselves.  So  soon  as  the  en 
campment  was  formed,  Stanapat  sent 
off  scouts  in  various  directions,  to  dis 
cover  whether  the  other  war  parties  of 
the  allied  nations  were  near,  and  to  try 
and  discover  at  the  same  time  Red  Ce 
dar's  trail. 

When  the  sentinels  were  posted,  for 
several  warlike  tribes  of  the  Far  West 
guard  themselves  with  great  care  when 
on  the  war  trail,  Stanapat  visited  all 
the  posts,  and  prepared  to  listen  to  the 
reports  of  the  scouts,  several  of  whom 
had  already  returned.  The  three  first 
Indians  whom  he  questioned,  announced 
but  little  of  importance ;  they  had  dis 
covered  nothing. 

"Good,"  said  the  chief;  "the  night 
is  dark,  my  young  men  have  moles' 
eyes  ;  to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  they  will 
see  more  clearly ;  they  can  sleep  this 
night.  At  daybreak,  they  will  start 
again,  and  perhaps  discover  some 
thing." 

He  made  a  signal  with  his  hand  to 
dismiss  the  scouts,  who  bowed  respect 
fully  to  the  chief,  and  retired  iu  silence. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


41 


Only  one  remained  impassive  and  mo 
tionless,  as  if  the  words  had  not  been 
addressed  to  him  as  well  as  to  the  oth 
ers.  Stanapat  turned  and  looked  at 
him  for  some  seconds. 

"My  son,  the.  Swift  Elk,  did  not  hear 
me  doubtless,"  he  said  ;  "  he  ean  rejoin 
his  comrades." 

"  The  Elk  heard  his  father,"  the  In 
dian  replied,  coolly. 

"Then  why  does  he  remain?" 

"Because  he  has  not  told  what  he 
saw,  and  what  he  saw  is  important  to 
the  chief." 

"  Wah  !"  said  Stanapat,  "  and  what 
has  my  son  seen  which  his  brothers  did 
not  discover  ?" 

"  The  warriors  were  seeking  in  anoth 
er  direction,  that  is  why  they  did  not 
perceive  the  trail." 

"  And  my  son  has  found  one  ?'' 

Swift  Elk  bowed  his  head  in  affirma 
tion. 

"  I  await  my  son's  explanation,"  the 
chief  went  on. 

"The  pale-faces  are  two  bowshot 
lengths  from  my  father's  camp,"  the 
Indian  answered  laconically. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  the  chief  said  doubtful 
ly  ;  "  that  seems  to  me  too  much." 

"  Will  my  father  see  V 

"  I  will  see,"  Stanapat  said  as  he  rose. 

"  If  my  father  will  follow  me,  he  will 
soon  see." 

"  Let  us  go." 

The  two  Indians  started.  Swift  Elk 
led  the  sachem  through  the  wood,  and 
on  reaching  the  river  bank,  he  showed 
him  a  short  distance  off  a  rock,  whose 
black  outline  rose  silent  and  gloomy 
over  the  Gila. 

"  They  are  there,"  he  said,  stretching 
out  his  arm  in  the  direction  of  the  rock. 

"  My  son  has  seen  them  J" 

"  I  have  seen  them." 

"  Ttiat  is  the  Rock  of  Mad  Buffalo,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken." 

"  Yes,"  the  Indian  answered. 

"  The  position  will  be  difficult  to  car 
ry,"  the  sachem  muttered,  as  he  care 
fully  examined  the  rock. 

This  place  was  called  the  Rock  or  Hill 
of  Mad  Buffalo,  which  name  it  indeed 
still  bears,  for  the  following  reasons. 
The  Comanches  had,  some  fifty  years 
ago,  a  famous  chief  who  rendered  his 


tribe  the  most  warlike  and  redoubtable 
of  all  in  the  Far  West.  This  chief, 
who  was  called  the  Mad  Buffalo,  was 
not  only  a  great  warrior,  but  also  a 
great  politician.  By  the  aid  of  sundry 
poisons,  but  especially  of  arsenic, 
which  he  purchased  of  the  white  tra 
ders  for  furs,  he  had  succeeded,  by  kil 
ling  all  those  who  opposed  him,  in  in 
spiring  all  his  subj -cts  with  an  un 
bounded  superstitious  terror.  When 
he  felt  that  death  was  at  hand,  and  un 
derstood  that  his  last  hour  had  arrived, 
he  indicated  the  spot  he  had  selected 
for  his  sepulchre. 

It  was  a  pyramidal  column  of  granite 
and  sand  about  four  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  in  height.  This  pillar  commands 
for  a  long  distance  the  course  of  the 
river  which  washes  its  base  and  which, 
after  making  numberless  windings  in 
the  plain,  comes  back  close  to  it  again. 
Mad  Buffalo  ordered  that  his  tomb 
should  be  erected  on  the  top  of  this 
hill,  where  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
go  and  sit.  His  last  wishes  were  car-,' 
ried  out  with  that  fidelity  the  Indians 
display  in  such  matters.  His  body  was 
placed  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  mounted 
on  his  finest  steed,  and  over  both  a 
mound  was  formed.  A  pole  stuck  in 
the  tomb  bore  the  banner  of  the  chief 
and  the  numerous  scalps  which  he  had 
raised  from  his  enemies  in  action. 

Hence  the  mountain  of  Mad  Buffalo 
is  an  object  of  veneration  for  the  In 
dians,  and  when  a  red-skin  is  going  to 
follow  the  war  trail  for  the  first  time, 
he  strengthens  his  courage  by  (Dazing  on 
the  enchanted  hill  which*  contains  the 
skeleton  of  the  Indian  warrior  and  his 
steed. 

The  chief  carefully  examined  the 
hill:  it  was,  in  truth,  a  formidable  po 
sition.  The  whites  had  rendered  it 
even  stronger,  as  far  as  was  possible, 
by  cutting  down  the  tallest  trees  they 
found,  and  forming  thick  palisades  lined 
with  pointed  stakes  and  defended  by  a 
ditch  eighteen  feet  in  width.  Thus  pro 
tected,  the  hill  had  been  converted  into 
a  real  impregnable  fortress,  unless  reg 
ularly  besieged. 

Stanapat  re-entered  the  wood,  fol 
lowed  by  his  comrade,  and  went  back 
to  the  bivouac. 


12 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  Is  the  chief  satisfied  with  his  son1?" 
the  Indian  asked  ere  he  retired. 

"  My  son  has  the  eyes  of  a  tapir  ; 
nothing  escapes  him." 

Swift  Elk  smiled  proudly  as  he 
bowed. 

"  Does  my  son,"  the  chief  continued, 
in  an  insinuating  voice,  "  know  the  pale 
faces  who  are  entrenched  on  the  Hill  of 
Mad  Buffalo?" 

"Swift  Elk  knows  them." 

"  Wah  !"  said  the  sachem  ;  "  my  son 
is  not  mistaken  j  he  has  recognized  the 
trail  r 

"Swift  Elk  is  never  mistaken,"  the 
Indian  answered  in  a  firm  voice ;  "  he 
is  a  renowned  warrior." 

"  My  brother  is  right ;  he  can  speak." 

"  The  pale  chief  who  occupies  the 
Rock  of  Mad  Buffalo  is  the  great  white 
hunter  whom  the  Cornanches  have 
adopted,  and  who  is  called  Koutonepi." 

Stanapat  could  not  check  a  move 
ment  of  surprise. 

"Wah!"  he  exclaimed ;  "can  it  be 
possible  ?  my  son  is  positively  sure 
that  Koutont>pi  is  entrenched  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  T 

"  Sure/'  the  Indian  said  without  hes 
itation. 

The  chief  made  Swift  Elk  a  sign  to 
retire,  and,  letting  his  head  fall  in  his 
hands,  he  reflected  profoundly. 

The  Apache  had  seen  correctly ; 
Valentine  and  his  comrades  were  really 
on  the  rock.  After  the  death  of  Dona 
Clara,  the  hunter  and  his  friends  started 
in  pursuit  of  Red  Cedar,  not  waiting,  in 
their  thirst  for  vengeance,  till  the 
earthquake  was  quite  ended,  and  nature 
had  resumed  its  ordinary  course.  Val 
entine,  with  that  experience  of  the  des 
ert  which  he  possessed  so  thorougly, 
had,  on  the  previous  evening,  discover 
ed  an  Apache  trail  ;  and,  not  caring  to 
fight  them  in  the  open,  owing  to  the 
numerical  weakness  of  his  party,  had 
scaled  the  hill,  resolved  to  defend  him 
self  against  any  who  dared  to  attack 
him  in  his  impregnable  retreat. 

In  one  of  his  numerous  journeys 
across  the  desert,  Valentine  had  noticed 
this  rock,  whose  position  was  so  strong 
that  it  was  easy  to  hold  it  against  an 
enemy  of  even  considerable  force,  and 
he  determined  to  take  advantage  of  this 


spot  if  circumstances  compelled  him  at 
any  time  to  seek  a  formidable  shelter. 

Without  loss  of  time  the  hunters  for 
tified  themselves.  So  soon  as  the  en 
trenchments  were  completed,  Valentine 
mounted  on  the  top  of  Mad  Buffalo's 
tomb,  and  looked  attentively  out  on 
the  plain.  It  was  then  about  mid-day  : 
from  the  elevation  where  Valentine 
was,  he  surveyed  an  immense  extent  of 
country.  The  prairie  and  the  river 
were  deserted  :  nothing  appeared  on 
the  horizon  except  here  and  there  a  few 
herds  of  buffaloes,  some  nibbling  the 
thick  grass,  others  carelessly  reclining. 

The  hunter  experienced  a  feeling  of 
relief  and  indescribable  joy  on  fancy 
ing  that  his  trail  was  lost  by  the 
Apaches,  and  that  he  had  time  to  make 
all  preparations  for  a  vigorous  defence. 
He  first  occupied  himself  with  stocking 
the  camp  with  provisions,  not  to  be 
overcome  by  famine  if  he  were,  as  he 
supposed,  soon  attacked.  His  com 
rades  and  himself,  therefore,  had  a 
grand  buffalo  hunt :  as  they  killed 
them,  their  flesh  was  cut  in  very  thin 
strips,  which  were  stretched  on  cords 
to  dry  in  the  sun,  and  make  what  is 
called  in  the  pampas  charque.  The 
kitchen  was  placed  in  a  natural  grotto, 
which  was  in  the  interior*  of  the  en 
trenchments.  It  was  easy  to  make  a 
fire  there  with  no  fear  of  discovery,  for 
the  smoke  disappeared  through  an  in 
finite  number  of  fissures,  which  render 
ed  it  imperceptible.  The  hunters  spent 
the  night  in  making  water  bottles  with 
buffalo  hides :  they  rubbed  fat  into  the 
seams  to  prevent  them  leaking,  and 
they  had  time  to  lay  in  a  considerable 
stock  of  water.  At  sunrise  Valentine 
returned  to  his  look-out,  and  took  a 
long  glance  over  the  plain  to  assure 
himself  that  the  desert  remained  calm 
and  silent. 

"  Why  have  you  made  us  perch  on 
this  rock  like  squirrels  ?"  General  Iba- 
nez  suddenly  asked  him.  Valentine 
stretched  out  his  arm.  "  Look,"  he  said  ; 
"  what  do  you  see  down  there  ?" 

"  Not  much ;  a  little  dust,  I  fancy," 
the  general  said  cautiously. 

"  Ah  !"  Valentine  continued,  "  very 
good,  my  friend.  And  do  you  knovr 
what  causes  that  dust  ?" 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


43 


« I  really  do  not." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you;  it  is  the 
Apaches." 

"  Caramba,  you  are  not  mistaken  ?" 

"You  will  soon  see." 

"Soon!"  the  general  objected;  "do 
you  think  they  are  coining  in  this  direc 
tion  V' 

"They  will  be  here  at  sunset. " 

"  Hum  !  you  did  well  in  taking  your 
precautions,  well,  comrade.  Guerpo  de 
Cristo !  we  shall  have  our  work  cut 
out  with  all  these  red  demons." 

"  That  is  probable,"  Valentine  said 
with  a  smile. 

And  he  descended  from  the  top  of 
the  tomb  where  he  had  hitherto  been 
standing. 

As  the  reader  has  already  learned, 
Valertllne  was  not  mistaken.  The 
Apaches  had  really  arrived  on  that 
night  at  a  short  distance  from  the  hill, 
and  the  scout  found  the  trail  of  the 
whites.  According  to  all  probability, 
a  terrible  collision  was  imminent  be 
tween  them  and  the  redskins;  those 
two  races  whom  a  mortal  hatred  di 
vides,  and  who  never  meet  on  the 
prairie  without  trying  to  destroy  each 
other.  Valentine  noticed  the  Apache 
scout  when  he  came  to  reconnoitre  the 
hill;  he  then  went  down  to  the  gener 
al,  and  said  with  that  tone  of  mockery 
habitual  to  him — 

"  Well,  ray  dear  friend,  do  you  still 
fancy  I  am  mistaken  ? ' 

"  1  never  said  so,"  the  general  ex 
claimed  quickly  ;  "  Heaven  keep  me 
from  it!  Still,  I  frankly  confess  that  1 
should  have  preferred  your  being  mis 
taken.  As  you  see,  1  display  no  self-es 
teem;  but  what  wculd  you  have?  I 
am  like  that,  I  would  sooner  fight  ten 
of  my  countrymen  than  one  of  these 
accursed  Indians." 

"  Unfortunately,"  Valentine  said  with 
a  smile,  "at  this  moment  you  have  no 
choice,  my  fru-nd." 

"  Tuat  is  true,  but  do  not  be  alarm 
ed  ;  however  annoyed  I  may  feel,  1 
shall  do  my  duty  as  a  soldier.'' 

V  Oh  !  who  doubts  it,  mv  dear  gen 
eral  r 

"  Caspita,  nobody,  I  know :  but  no 
matter,  you  shall  see." 

"  Well,   good   night ;    try  to   get  a 


little  rest,  for  I  warn  you  that  we  shall 
be  attacked  to-morrow  at  sunrise." 

"On  my  word,"  said  the  general 
with  a  yawn  that  threatened  to  dislo 
cate  his  jaw,  "  I  ask  nothing  better 
than  to  finish  once  for  all  with  these 
bandits." 

An  hour  later,  with  the  exception  of 
Curiunilla,  who  was  sentry,  the  hunters 
were  asleep;  the  Indians,  on  their  side, 
were  doim;  the  same  thing. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE    HILL    OF     THE    MAD    BUFFALO. 

ABOUT  an  hour  before  sunrise,  Stana- 
pat  aroused  his  warriors,  and  gave  them 
orders  to  march.  The  Apaches  seized 
their  weapons,  formed  in  Indian  file,  and 
at  a  signal  from  their  chief,  entered  the 
chapparal  that  separated  them  from  the 
rock  held  by  the  white  hunters.  Al 
though  the  distance  was  only  two 
leagues,  the  march  of  the  Apaches  las 
ted  more  than  an  hour;  but  it  was  car 
ried  out  with  so  much  prudence,  that  the 
hunters,  despite  the  watch  they  kept 
up,  in  no  way  suspected  that  their  ene 
mies  were  so  near  them.  The  Apaches 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  Stan- 
apat  ordered  the  camp  to  be  formed  at 
once. 

The  Indians,  when  they  like,  can 
draw  up  their  lines  very  fairly.  This 
time,  as  they  intended  to  carry  on  a 
regular  siege,  they  neglected  no  precau 
tions.  The  hill  was  surrounded  by  a 
ditch  three  yards  wide  and  four  deep, 
the  earth  of  waich,  thrown  up,  formed 
a  breastwork,  behind  which  the  Apach- 
s  were  perfectly  sheltered,  and  could 
fire  without  showing  themselves.  In 
the  centre  of  the  camp,  two  huts  or 
callis  were  erected,  one  for  the  chiefs, 
the  other  intended  for  the  council 
lodge.  Before  the  entrance  of  the  lat 
ter,  the  totem  or  emblem  of  the  tribe, 
and  the  sacred  calumet  were  hung  up, 

We  will  explain  here  what  these  two 
emblems  are,  which  several  writers 
have  mentioned,  though  not  described, 
but  which  it  is  very  important  to  know, 
if  a  desire  is  felt  to  study  Indian  man- 


44 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


ners.  The  totem,  or  kukevium,  is  the 
national  standard,  the  distinctive  mark 
of  each  tribe.  It  is  supposed  to  repre 
sent  the  patron  animal  of  the  tribe; 
coyote,  jaguar,  buffalo,  etc.,  each  tribe 
having  its  own  ;  in  this  instance  it  was 
a  white  buffalo.  The  totem  is  a  long 
staff,  decorated  with  feathers  of  various 
colors,  which  are  fastened  perpendicu 
larly  from  top  to  bottom.  This  stan 
dard  is  only  carried  by  the  principal 
Chief  of  the  tribe. 

The  calumet  is  a  pipe,  whose  tube  is 
lour,  six,  even  ten  feet  long ;  the  latter 
is  sometimes  round,  but  more  frequent 
ly  flat.  It  is  adorned  with  painted 
animals,  hair,  porcupine  quills,  or  birds 
of  brilliant  colors.  The  bowl  is  usual- 
Jy  of  red  or  white  marble ;  when  the 
stone  is  of  dark  color,  it  is  painted 
white  before  using.  The  calumet  is  sa 
cred  :  it  was  given  to  the  Indians  by 
the  sun,  and  for  that  reason  must  never 
be  polluted  by  contact  with  the  ground. 

In  bivouacs,  it  is  suspended  between 
two  cross  poles  fixed  in  the  earth.  The 
pipe-bearer  is  regarded  as  heralds  were 
formerly  among  ourselves  :  his  person 
is  inviolable.  He  is  generally  a  re 
nowned  warrior  of  the  tribe,  whom  a 
wound  received  in  action  has  rendered 
incapable  of  further  fighting. 

The  sun  rose  at  the  moment  when 
the  Apaches  completed  their  entrench 
ments.  The  whites,  in  spite  of  their 
bravery,  felt  a  shudder  of  terror  run 
over  their  bodies  when  they  found 
themselves  thus  invested  on  all  sides. 
'  The  more  so,  as  by  the  dim  light  of 
breaking  day  they  could  see  on  the  dis 
tant  horizon  several  bands  of  warriors 
advancing  from  different  points. 

."  Hum  !"  said  Valentine,  with  a  toss 
of  his  head,  "  it  will  be  a  sharp  fight." 

"  Do  you  consider  our  situation  a 
bad  one  ?"  the  general  asked  him. 

"  Detestable." 

"  Canarios  /"  said  General  Ibanez  : 
"  we  are  lost  in  that  case." 

"Yes,"  the  hunter  answered,  "un 
less  a  miracle  occur." 

"  Caspita,  what  you  say  is  not  at  all 
reassuring,  my  good  fellow.  Then,  in 
your  opinion,  there  is  no  hope  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  answered,  "  one 
chance  is  left  us." 


"  What  is  it  ?"  the  general  asked 
quickly. 

"  That  the  man  who  is  being  hanged 
feels — the  rope  may  break." 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  lie-assure  yourself,"  the  hunter 
said,  still  in  a  sarcastic  tone  ;  "  it  will 
not  break,  I  warrant  you." 

"  That  is  the  fine  consolation  you  of 
fer  me,"  the  general  said  in  a  tone,  half 
of  joke,  half  of  annoyance. 

"  Hang  it,  what  would  you  have?  it 
is  all  1  can  offer  you  at  this  moment ; 
but,"  he  added,  suddenly  changing  his 
accent,  "  all  this  does  not  prohibit  our 
breakfasting,  I  suppose." 

"On  the  contrary,"  the  general  an 
swered,  "  for  1  declare  I  have  a  fero 
cious  appetite,  which,  I  assure  you,  has 
not  been  the  case  for  a  long  time." 

"To  table,  then,"  Valentine  exclaim 
ed  with  a  laugh  ;  "  we  have  not  a  mo 
ment  to  lose  if  we  wish  to  breakfast  in 
peace." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  the  fact  ]" 

"Never  mind,  what  can't  be  cured 
must  be  endured  ;  and  so  to  breakfast 
with  what  appetite  you  may." 

The  three  men  then  proceeded  to  a 
leaf  hut  built  up  against  Mad  Buffalo's 
tomb,  and,  as  they  had  said,  made  a 
hearty  breakfast ;  perhaps,  as  the  gen 
eral  asserted,  it  was  because  the  sight 
of  the  Apaches  had  put  them  in  a  good 
temper.  In  the  meanwhile,  Stanapat, 
who  had  already  formed  his  camp,  has 
tened  to  send  couriers  in  every  direc 
tion,  to  have  news  of  his  allies  as  speedy 
as  possible.  The  latter  soon  appeared, 
accompanied  by  the  players  of  chichi- 
Itoues  and  drummers.  These  warriors 
were  at  least  five  hundred  in  number, 
all  handsome  and  well  built,  clothed 
in  rich  dresses,  splendidly  armed,  and 
offering  to  prejudiced  eyes  the  most 
frightful  sight  imaginable.  Tne  chief 
who  arrived  with  this  large  party  was 
Black  Cat. 

We  will  explain  in  a  few  words  the 
arrival  of  this  chief  with  his  tribe  among 
the  Apache  brothers — an  arrival  which 
may  seem  extraordinary,  after  the  part 
he  had  played  in  the  attack  on  the 
squatter's  camp.  Red  Cedar  had  been 
surprised  by  the  hunters  at  midnight) 
and  his  camp  was  at  once  fired  by  the 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


assailants.  The  earthquake  had  so 
thoroughly  complicated  the  situation, 
that  none  of  the  gambusinos  perceived 
Black  Cat's  treachery,  who,  for  his 
part,  so  soon  as  he  had  pointed  out  the 
position  of  the  gambusinos,  confined 
himself  to  sending  his  warriors  ahead, 
while  himself  remaining  with  the  rear 
guard,  so  as  not  to  compromise  him 
self,  and  be  able  to  play  the  part  that 
suited  him  best  at  the  right  moment. 
His  trick  was  most  perfectly  successful  ; 
the  gambusinos,  attacked  on  all  sides 
simultaneously,  had  only  dreamed  of 
defending  themselves  as  well  as  they 
could,  having  no  time  to  perceive  if 
deserters  from  their  allies  were  in  the 
ranks  of  their  enemies.  Hence  Black 
Cat  was  heartily  welcomed  by  Slana- 
pat,  who  was  delighted  at  the  help  that 
reached  him. 

During  the  course  of  the  day  other 
bands  entered  the  camp  in  turn,  so  that 
at  sunset  nearly  fifteen  hundred  redskin 
warriors  were  collected  at  the  foot  of 
the  rock,  and  the  hunters  were  com 
pletely  invested.  The  movements  of 
the  Indians  soon  made  them  compre 
hend  that  they  did  not  intend  to  retire 
till  they  had  reduced  them. 

The  Indians  are  the  shortest-sighted 
men  in  the  world ;  and  at  the  end  of 
two  days,  as  the  state  of  things  must 
be  remedied,  a  grand  buffalo  hunt  was 
organized.  At  daybreak,  thirty-five 
hunters,  under  the  orders  of  Black  Cat, 
left  the  camp,  crossed  the  wood,  and 
entered  the  prairie.  After  a  rapid  ride 
of  two  hours,  they  forded  the  Little  Tur 
tle  River,  on  the  banks  of  which  they 
halted  to  let  their  horses  breathe. 
During  this  halt  they  lit  a  bois  de  vache 
fire,  at  which  they  cooked  their  break 
fast,  and  then  set  out  again.  At  mid 
day  they  examined  the  plain  stretching 
out  at  their  feet,  from  the  top  of  a  hill ; 
they  saw,  at  a  considerable  distance, 
several  small  herds  of  buffalo,  each 
consisting  of  four  or  six  male  buffaloes, 
peaceably  grazing. 

The  hunters  cocked  their  guns,  went 
down  into  the  plain,  and  made  a  regular 
charge  against  these  clumsy  animals, 
which  can  run,  however,  very  fast. 
Each  soon  started  in  pursuit  of  the 
buffalo  nearest  to  him. 


The  buffaloes  at  times  assume  the 
offensive,  and  pursue  in  their  turn  the 
hunters  for  twenty  to  five-and-twenty 
yards  ;  but  it  is  easy  to  avoid  them  ; 
so  soon  as  they  perceive  the  futility  of 
pursuit,  they  fly  in  their  turn.  The  In 
dians  and  half-breeds  are  so  accustomed 
to  this  chase  on  horseback,  that  they 
rarely  require  more  than  one  shot  to 
kill  a  buffalo.  When  they  fire  they  do 
not  shoulder  the  piece,  but,  on  the  con 
trary,  stretch  out  both  arms  to  their 
full  extent ;  so  soon  as  they  are  about 
ten  paces  from  the  animal,  they  fire  in, 
this  position,  then  reload  with  incredi 
ble  speed,  for  they  do  not  ram  the  ball 
home  with  wadding,  but  let  it  full 
directly  on  the  powder  to  which  it  ad 
heres,  as  they  have  previously  held  it 
in  their  mouths,  and  fire  again  at  once. 

Through  this  uncommon  speed,  the 
Indians  produced  in  a  short  time  a  per 
fect  massacre  among  the  buffaloes  ; 
sixty-eight  of  these  animals  were  killed 
in  less  than  two  hours,  Black  Cat  having 
brought  down  eleven  as  his  share.  The 
buffaloes  were  cut  up  and  loaded  on 
horses  brought  for  the  purpose,  then  the 
hunters  returned  gaily  to  camp,  con 
versing  about  all  the  singular  or  drama 
tic  incidents  of  the  hunt,  with  all  the 
Indian  vivacity.  Thanks  to  this  expe 
dition,  the  Apaches  were  provisioned 
for  a  long  time. 

A  short  distance  from  the  camp,  the 
Indians  perceived  a  rider  coming  to- 
ward  them  at  full  speed.  Black  Cat  or 
dered  a  halt,  and  waited  ;  it  was  evi 
dent  that  the  person  arriving  thus  could 
only  be  a  friend,  and  any  doubts  were 
speedily  dispelled.  The  Apaches  recog* 
nized  White  Gazelle.  We  have  said 
elsewhere  that  the  Indians  were  much 
attached  to  this  girl  ;  they  received  her 
very  graciously,  and  led  her  to  Black 
Cat,  who  remained  motionless  till  she 
joined  him.  The  chief  examined  her 
for  a- moment  attentively. 

"  My  daughter  is  welcome,"  he  said  ; 
"  does  she  ask  hospitality  of  the  Apa 
ches  r 

"No,  chief;  I  have  come  to  join 
them  against  the  pale-faces,  as  I  have 
done  before,"  she  replied,  boldly  ;  "  be 
sides,  you  know  it  as  well  as  1  do,"  she 
added. 


46 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"Good!"  the  chief  continued  ;  "we 
thank  my  daughter  ;  her  friends  are  ab 
sent,  but  we  expect  to  see  wilhin  a  few 
hours  Red   Cedar   and  the  Long-knive 
of  the  East." 

A  shade  of  dissatisfaction  covered  the 
girl's  forehead ;  but  she  at  once  re 
covered,  and  ranged  her  horse  by  the 
side  of  the  chief's,  saying  carelessly — 

"Red  Cedar  can  come  when  he  likes 
— it  does  not  concern  me.  Am  1  not  a 
friend  of  the  Apaches  ?" 

"  That  is  true,"  the  Indian  said,  with 
a  bow  ;  "  will  my  sister  set  out?" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  chief." 

The  hunters  started  again  at  a  gal 
lop  ;  an  hour  later,  they  entered  the 
camp,  where  they  were  received  with 
shouts  of  joy  from  the  Apache  war 
riors.  Black  Cat  ordered  a  calli  to  be 
prepared  for  the  girl ;  then,  after  visit 
ing  the  sentries,  and  listening  to  the  re 
ports  of  the  scouts,  he  sat  down  near 
the  tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  White 
Gazelle  had  thrown  herself,  to  reflect  on 
the  new  duties  imposed  on  her  by  the 
engagements  into  which  she  had  entered 
with  Bloodson. 

"  My  daughter  is  sad,"  the  old  chief 
said,  as  he  lit  his  pipe  by  the  aid  of  a 
long  wand,  adorned  with  feathers,  and 
painted  of  different  colors ;  for,  with 
that  superstition  natural  to  some  In 
dians,  he  felt  persuaded  that  if  he  once 
touched  fire  with  his  hands  he  would 
die  on  the  spot. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  answered,  "  my  heart 
is  gloomy  ;  a  cloud  has  spread  over  my 
mind." 

"  My  sister  must  console  herself:  he 
whom  she  has  lost  will  be  avenged." 

"  The  pale-faces  are  strong,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  fixedly. 

"  Yes,"  the  chief  replied,  «  the 
whites  have  the  strength  of  a  grizzly 
bear,  but  the  Indians  have  the  craft  of 
the  beaver  ;  my  sister  can  feel  reassur 
ed,  her  enemies  will  not  escape  her." 

"  Does  my  father  know  it?" 

"  Black  Cat  is  one  of  the  great  sa 
chems  of  his  ft-ibe,  nothing  is  hidden 
from  him.  At  this  moment  all  the 
pirates  of  the  prairie,  joined  by  the 
half-breeds,  are  advancing  to  surround 
the  rock  which  serves  as  a  refuge  to  the 
great  pale  warrior ;  to-morrow,  per 


haps,  six  thousand  redskin  warriors 
will  be  here.  My  sister  can,  therefore, 
see  that  her  vengeance  is  assured  ;  un 
less  the  pale-faces  fly  through  the  air, 
or  plunge  into  the  waters,  which  can 
not  happen — they  are  lost." 

The  young  girl  made  no  reply  ;  not 
thinking  of  the  chief,  whose  piercing 
eye  was  fixed  on  her,  she  rose  and  be 
gan  walking  up  and  down  in  great  agi 
tation. 

"  Oh  Heavens  !"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  they  are  lost !  Oh,  why  am  I 
but  a  woman,  and  can  do  nothing  for 
them  ?  How  can  they  be  saved  ?" 

"  What  does  my  sister  say  ?  has  the 
Wacondah  troubled  her  mind  ?"  the 
chief  asked  her,  as  he  stood  before  her, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

The  Spaniard  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  then  let  her  head  fall  in  her 
hands,  muttering  in  a  choking  voice, 

"  Oh,  Heavens  !  I  am  mad." 

Black  Cat  took  a  searching  glance 
around,  and  then  bent  down  to  the  girl's 
ear. 

"  My  sister  must  follow  me,"  he  said, 
in  a  firm  and  significant  voice. 

White  Gazelle  raised  her  head,  and 
looked  at  him;  the  chief  laid  a  finger 
on  his  lip,  as  if  to  recommend  silence 
to  her,  and,  turning  his  back,  entered 
the  wood.  The  girl  followed  him  anx 
iously,  and  they  walked  on  thus  lor 
some  minutes.  At  length  they  reached 
the  top  of  a  mound  denuded  of  trees, 
where  the  eye  could  survey  all  around. 
Black  Cat  stopped  and  made  the  girl  a 
sign  to  approach  him. 

"  Here  we  can  talk  ;  let  my  sister 
speak  ;  my  ears  are  open." 

"  What  can  I  say  that  my  father  does 
not  know  ?"the  girl  replied,  suspiciously. 

"  My  sister  wishes  to  save  the  pale 
faces,  is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,"  she  said,  with  exalta 
tion  ;  "  for  reasons  I  cannot  tell  you, 
:hese  men,  who,  a  few  days  back,  were 
lateful  to  me,  have  become  dear  to 
me ;  to-day  I  would  save  them  at  the 
peril  of  my  life." 

"  Yes,"  the  old  man  said,  as  if  speak- 
ng  to  himself,  "  women  are  so ;  like 
the  leaves  the  wind  carries  off,  their 
mind  changes  its  direction  with  the 
slightest  breath  of  passion." 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


47 


"  Now  you  know  my  secret,"  she 
continued  boldly,  "  I  do  not  care  about 
having  discovered  it  to  you  ;  act  as 
you  think  proper,  but  no  longer  count 
on  me." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  the  Apache  re 
plied  with  his  sardonic  smile,  "  I  count 
on  you  more  than  ever." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,"  Black  Cat  continued,  after 
taking  a  searching  glance  around,  and 
letting  his  voice  drop,  "  I  wish  to  save 
them  too." 

"  You  ?" 

"  I.  Did  not  the  pale  chief  enable 
me  to  escape  the  death  that  awaited  me 
in  the  Comanche  village  ?  did  he  not 
share  with  me  as  a  brother  the  fire 
water  of  his  gourd,  to  give  me  strength 
to  sit  my  horse,  and  rejoin  the  warriors 
of  my  tribe  ?  Black  Cat  is  a  great 
chief.  Ingratitude  is  a  white  vice ; 
gratitude  is  a  red  virtue.  Black  Cat 
will  save  his  brother.'' 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  said  the  girl,  as  she 
pressed  the  old  man's  rough  hands  in 
hers;  "  thanks  for  your  kindness.  But, 
alas,  time  is  slipping  away  rapidly, 
dawn  will  be  here  in  a  few  hours,  and 
perhaps  we  shall  not  succeed." 

"  Black  Cat  is  prudent,"  the  chief  re 
plied,  "  my  sister  must  listen  ;  but,  in 
the  first  place,  she  may  be  glad  to 
warn  her  friends  that  she  is  watching 
over  them." 

White  Gazelle  smiled  in  response  ; 
the  Indian  whistled  in  a  peculiar 
fashion,  and  Sunbeam  made  her  appear 
ance. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

BLACK   CAT   AND    UNICORN. 

BLACK  CAT  had  retained  a  profound 
gratitude  to  Valentine  through  the 
generosity  with  which  the  latter  had 
saved  his  life.  The  chief  sought  by 
any  means  possible  to  pay  the  debt 
after  the  attack  on  the  gambusino 
camp,  during  which  he  had  so  vigorous 
ly  supported  the  hunter.  All  the  time 
he  was  being  carried  down  the  swollen 
Gila  in  the  buffalo-hide  canoes,  Black 


Cat  reflected  seriously  on  the  events 
taking  place  in  his  sight. 

He  knew,  like  all  the  Indian  chiefs 
of  the  Far  West,  the  causes  of  the  ha 
tred  that  separated  the  whites ;  more 
over,  he  had  been  on  several  occasions 
enabled  to  appreciate  the  moral  differ 
ence  existing  between  the  American 
squatter  and  the  French  hunter.  Be 
sides,  the  question  was  now  settled  in 
his  mind  ;  all  his  sympathies  were  at 
tracted  to  Valentine.  Still,  it  would  be 
as  well  that  his  help,  to  be  useful, 
should  be  freely  accepted  by  his 
friends,  so  as  to  prevent  any  misunder 
standing. 

When  the  earth  had  regained  its 
equilibrium,  and  all  had  returned  to 
the  order  laid  down  at  the  commence 
ment  of  the  universe,  Black  Cat  gave  a 
signal,  and  the  canoes  ran  a  shore.  The 
chief  ordered  his  men  to  bivouac  where 
they  were,  and  await  him  ;  then  notic 
ing  a  short  distance  off,  a  herd  of  wild 
horses,  he  lassoed  one,  tamed  it  in  a  few 
minutes,  leaped  on  its  back,  and  started 
at  a  gallop.  At  this  moment  the  sun 
rose  splendidly  on  the  horizon. 

The  Apache  chief  journeyed  the 
whole  day  without  stopping,  except  a 
few  moments  to  let  his  horse  breathe, 
and  at  sunset  he  found  himself  a  bow 
shot  from  Unicorn's  village.  After  re 
maining  in  thought  for  a  few  minutes, 
the  Indian  appeared  to  make  up  his 
mind  ;  he  urged  on  his  horse,  and  bold 
ly  entered  the  village,  which,  however, 
was  deserted.  Black  Cat  traversed  it 
in  every  direction,  finding  at  every  step 
traces  of  the  fearful  fight  of  which  it 
had  been  the  scene  a  few  days  previous 
ly  ;  but  he  did  not  see  a  soul,  not  even 
a  dog. 

When  an  Indian  is  following  a  trail, 
he  is  never  discouraged,  but  goes  on 
until  he  finds  it.  Black  Cat  left  the  vil 
lage  at  the  opposite  end,  looked  about 
for  a  minute,  and  then  started  unhesita 
tingly  straight  a-head.  His  admirable 
knowledge  of  the  prairie  had  not  de 
ceived  him ;  four  hours  later  he  reach 
ed  the  skirt  of  the  virgin  forest,  under 
whose  green  arches  we  have  seen  Uni 
corn's  Cornanches  disappear.  Black 
Cat  also  entered  the  forest  by  the  same 
road  as  the  village  population  had  fol- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


lowed,  and  within  an  hour  saw  the  fires 
flashing  through  the  trees.  The  Apache 
stopped  for  a  moment,  looked  around 
him,  and  then  went  on. 

Though  apparently  alone  BlackCat  felt 
that  he  was  watched ;  he  knew  that 
since  his  first  step  in  the  forest,  he  was 
followed  by  invisible  eyes.  As  he  had 
not  come  however,  in  any  warlike  in 
tention,  he  did  not  in  any  way  attempt 
to  conceal  his  trail.  These  tactics  were 
comprehended  by  the  Comanche  sen 
tries,  who  let  him  pass  without  reveal 
ing  their  presence,  but  still  communi 
cated  the  arrival  of  an  Apache  chief  on 
their  territory  to  each  other,  so  that 
Black  Cat's  coming  was  known  at  the 
village,  while  he  was  still  a  long  way 
from  it. 

The  chief  entered  a  large  clearing,  in 
the  midst  of  which  stood  several  huts. 
Several  chiefs  were  silently  seated 
round  a  fire,  burning  in  front  of  a  calli, 
which  Black  Cat  recognised  as  the  medi 
cine  lodge.  Contrary  to  the  custom 
generally  adopted  in  such  cases,  no  one 
seemed  to  notice  the  approach  of  the 
chief,  or  rose  to  do  him  honor,  and  give 
him  welcome.  Black  Cat  understood 
that  something  extraordinary  was  oc 
curring1  in  the  village,  and  that  he  was 
about  to  witness  a  strange  scene. 

He  was  in  no  way  affected  by  the 
cold  reception  accorded  to  him  ;  he  dis 
mounted,  threw  his  bridle  over  his 
horse's  neck,  and,  walking  to  the  fire, 
sat  down  opposite  Unicorn,  between 
two  chiefs,  who  fell  back  to  make  room 
for  him.  Then,  drawing  the  calumet 
from  his  girdle,  he  filled  and  lit  it,  and 
began  smoking,  after  bowing  to  the 
company.  The  latter  replied  by  the 
same  gesture,  but  did  not  interrupt  the 
silence.  At  length  Unicorn  took  the 
calumet  from  his  lips,  and  turned  to 
Black  Cat. 

"  My  brother  is  a  great  warrior,"  he 
said ;  "  he  is  welcome,  his  arrival  is  a 
happy  ome«  for  my  young  men,  at  a 
moment  when  a  terrible  chief  is  about 
to  leave  us,  and  proceed  to  the  happy 
hunting  grounds." 

"  The  Master  of  Life  protected  me,in 
permitting  me  to  arrive  so  opportune 
ly  ;  who  is  the  chief  about  to  die  ?" 

"  The  Panther  is  weary  of  life,"  Uni 


corn  replied,  in  a  mournful  voice  ;  "  he 
counts  many  winters,  his  tired  arm  can 
no  longer  fell  the  buffalo  or  the  elk,  his 
clouded  eye  only  distinguishes  with 
difficulty  the  nearest  objects." 

"  The  Panther  is  no  longer  useful  to 
his  brothers,  but  has  become  a  burden 
to  them ;  he  must  die,"  Black  Cat  re 
marked,  sententiously. 

"That  is  what  the  chief  himself 
thought ;  he  has  this  day  communicated 
his  intentions  to  the  council  assembled 
here  round  the  fire,  and  I,  his  son,  have 
undertaken  to  open  for  him  the  gates 
of  another  world." 

"  Panther  is  a  wise  chief;  what  can  a 
man  do  with  life  when  he  grows  a  bur 
den  to  others  ?  the  Wacondah  has  been 
kind  to  the  red-skins  in  giving  them  the 
necessary  discernment  to  get  rid  of  the 
aged  and  weak,  and  send  them  to  an 
other  world,  where  they  will  be  born 
again,  and  after  this  short  trial,  hunt 
with  all  the  vigor  of  youth." 

"  Aly  brother  has  spoken  well,"  Uni 
corn  answered,  with  a  bow. 

At  this  moment  a  movement  took 
place  in  the  crowd  assembled  round  the 
sweating  lodge,  in  which  the  old  chief 
was.  The  door  opened,  and  Panther 
appeared.  He  was  an  old  man  of  ma 
jestic  height — in  opposition  to  the  ma 
jority  of  Indians,  who  retain  for  a  long 
time  the  appearance  of  youth — his  hair 
and  beard,  which  fell  in  disorder  on  his 
shoulders  and  chest,  were  of  a  dazzling 
whiteness.  On  his  face,  whose  features 
were  imprinted  with  unconquerable  en 
ergy,  could  be  seen  all  the  marks  of  a 
decrepitude  which  had  attained  its  last 
limits.  He  was  clothed  in  his  hand 
somest  costume,  and  painted  and  armed 
for  war. 

So  soon  as  he  appeared  in  the  door 
way  of  the  hut  all  the  chiefs  rose. 
Unicorn  walked  up  to  him  and  respect 
fully  offered  his  right  arm,  on  which  he 
leant.  The  old  man,  supported  by  his 
son,  tottered  up  to  the  fire,  before 
which  he  squatted.  The  other  chiefs 
took  their  place  by  his  side,  and  the 
warriors  formed  a  wide  circle  round 
them.  The  great  calumet  of  peace  was 
brought  in  by  the  pipe-bearer,  who 
presented  it  to  the  old  man,  and  when 
it  had  gone  round  the  circle,  Panther 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


49 


took  the  word.  His  voice  was  low  and 
faint,  but,  owing  to  the  deep  silence 
that  prevailed,  it  was  heard  by  all. 

"  My  sons,"  he  said,  "  I  am  about  to 
depart  for  another  country ;  I  shall 
soon  be  near  the  Master  of  Life.  I 
will  tell  the  warriors  of  our  nation 
•whom  I  meet  on  the  road  that  the  Co- 
manches  are  still  invincible,  and  their 
nation  is  the  queen  of  the  prairies." 

A  murmur  of  satisfaction,  soon  sup 
pressed,  however,  greeted  these  words; 
in  a  moment  the  old  man  continued : 

"  Continue  to  be  brave  as  your  an 
cestors  ;  be  implacable  to  the  pale-faces, 
those  devouring  wolves,  covered  with 
an  elk-skin  ;  let  them  ever  assume  the 
feet  of  the  antelope,  to  fly  more  speed 
ily  before  you,  and  may  they  never  see 
the  wolf-tails  you  fasten  to  your  heels. 
Never  taste  the  fire- water,  that  poison, 
by  the  help  of  which  the  pale-faces 
enervate  us,  render  us  weak  as  women, 
and  incapable  of  avenging  insults. 
When  you  are  assembling  round  the 
war  or  hunting  fire  in  your  camp,  think 
sometimes  of  Panther,  the  chief,  whose 
renown  was  formerly  great,  and  who, 
seeing  that  the  Wacondah  forgot  him 
on  earth,  preferred  to  die  sooner  than 
be  longer  a  burthen  to  his  nation.  Tell 
the  young  warriors  who  tread  the  path 
for  the  first  time,  the  exploits  of  your 
chief,  Bounding  Panther,  who  was  so 
long  the  terror  of  the  foes  of  the  Co- 
manches." 

While  uttering  these  words  the  old 
chiefs  eye  had  become  animated,  and 
his  voice  trembled  with  emotion.  The 
Indians  assembled  round  him  listened 
to  him  respectfully. 

"But  what  use  is  it  to  speak  thus1?" 
he  went  on,  suppressing  a  sigh  ;  "  I 
know  that  rny  memory  will  not  die  out 
among  you,  for  my  son  Unicorn  is  here 
to  succeed  me,  and  guide  you  in  his 
turn  on  the  path  where  I  so  long  led 
you.  Bring  my  last  meal,  so  that  we 
may  soon  strike  up  '  the  song  of  the 
Great  Remedy.'  " 

Immediately  the  Indians  brought  up 
pots  filled  with  boiled  dogs-flesh,  and  at 
a  sign  from  Panther,  the  meal  com 
menced.  When  it  was  ended  the  old 
man  lit  his  calumet,  and  smoked,  while 
the  warriors  danced  round  him,  with 


Unicorn  at  their  head.  Presently  the 
old  man  made  a  sign,  and  the  warriors 
stopped. 

"  What  does  my  father  desire?"  Uni 
corn  asked. 

"  I  wish  you  to  sing  the  song  of  the 
Great  Remedy." 

"  Good,"  Unicorn  replied,  "  my 
father  shall  be  obeyed." 

Then  he  struck  up  that  strange 
chant,  of  which  the  following  is  a. 
translation,  the  Indians  joining  in 
chorus  and  continuing  to  dance  : 

"  Master  of  Life,  thou  givesfe  us 
courage  !  It  is  true  that  redskins 
know  that  thou  lovest  them.  We  send 
thee  our  father  this  day.  See  how  old 
and  decrepit  he  is  !  the  Bounding  Pan 
ther  has  been  changed  into  a  clumsy 
bear  !  Grant  that  he  may  find  himself 
young  in  another  world,  and  able  to 
hunt  as  in  former  times." 

And  the  round  danced  on,  the  old 
man  smoking  his  pipe  stoically  the 
while.  At  length,  when  the  calumet 
was  empty,  he  shook  out  the  ashes  on 
his  thumb-nail,  laid  the  pipe  before  him, 
and  looked  up  to  heaven.  At  this  mo 
ment  the  first  signs  of  twilight  tinged 
the  extreme  line' of  the  horizon  with 
an  opaline  hue,  the  old  man  drew  him 
self  up,  his  eye  became  animated,  and 
flashed. 

"  The  hour  has  come,"  he  said,  in  a 
loud  and  firm  voice ;  "  the  Wacondah 
summons  me.  Farewell,  Comanehe 
warriors ;  my  son,  you  have  to  send 
me  to  the  Master  of  Life." 

Unicorn  drew  out  the  tomahawk 
hanging  from  his  belt,  brandished  it 
over  his  head,  and  without  hesitation, 
and  with  a  movement  swift  as  thought, 
cleft  the  skull  of  the  old  man,  whose 
smiling  face  was  turned  to  him,  and 
who  fell  without  a  sigh. 

He  was  dead  ! 

The  dance  began  again  more  rapid 
and  irregularly,  and  the  warriors  shout 
ed  in  chorus  : 

"  Wacondah  !  Wacondah  !  receive 
this  warrior !  See,  he  did  not  fear 
death !  he  knew  there  was  no  such 
thing,  as  he  was  to  be  born  again  in  thy 
bosom  ! 

"  Wacondah  !  Wacondah  !  receive 
this  warrior.  He  was  just !  the  blood 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


flowed  red  and  pure  in   his  heart !  the  | 
words  his  chest  uttered  were  wise  ! 

"  Wacondah  !  Wacondah  !  receive 
this  warrior !  He  was  the  greatest  and 
most  celebrated  of  thy  Comanche  chil 
dren  ! 

"  Wacondah  !  Wacondah  !  receive 
this  warrior.  See  how  many  scalps  he 
•wears  at  his  girdle. 

"  Wacondah  !  Wacondah !  receive 
this  warrior  !" 

The  song  and  dancing  lasted  till  day 
break,  when,  at  a  signal  from  Unicorn, 
they  ceased. 

"  Our  father  has  gone,"  he  said  ;  "  his 
soul  has  left  his  body,  which  it  inhabit 
ed  too  long,  to  choose  another  abode. 
Let  us  give  him  a  burial  suited  to  so 
great  a  warrior." 

The  preparations  were  not  lengthy  ; 
the  body  of  the  Bounding  Panther  was 
carefully  washed,  then  interred  in  a  sit 
ing  posture,  with  his  war  weapons  ;  the 
last  horse  he  had  ridden  and  his  dogs 
were  placed  by  his  side,  after  having 
their  throats  cut;  and  then  a  bark  hut 
was  erected  over  the  tomb  to  preserve 
it  from  the  profanation  of  wild  beasts  ; 
on  the  top  of  the  hut  a  pole  was  plant 
ed,  surmounted  by  the  scalps  the  old 
warrior  had  taken  at  a  period  when  he, 
still  young  and  full  of  strength,  led  the 
Comanches  in  action. 

Black  Cat  witnessed  all  the  affecting 
incidents  of  this  mournful  tragedy  re 
spectfully,  and  with  religious  devotion. 
When  the  funeral  rites  were  e"nded, 
Unicorn  came  up  to  him. 

"  I  thank  my  brother,"  the  Coman 
che  said,  "  for  having  helped  us  to  pay 
the  last  duties  to  an  illustrous  warrior. 
Now  I  am  quite  at  my  brother's  ser 
vice,  he  can  speak  without  fear ;  the 
ears  of  a  friend  are  open,  and  his  heart 
will  treasure  up  the  words  addressed 
to  it." 

"  Unicorn  is  the  first  warrior  of  his 
nation,"  Black  Cat  replied,  with  a  bow  ; 
"justice  and  honor  dwell  in  him:  a 
cloud  has  passed  over  my  mind  and 
rendered  it  sad." 

"  Let  my  brother  open  his  heart  to 
me,  I  know  that  he  is  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  chiefs  of  his  nation.  Black 
Cut  no  longer  counts  the  scalps  he  has 


taken  from  his  enemies — what  is  the 
reason  that  renders  him  sad  ?" 

The  Apache  chief  smiled  proudly  at 
Unicorn's  remarks. 

"  The  friend  of  my  brother,  the  great 
pale  hunter,  adopted  by  his  tribe,"  he 
s;ud  sharply,  "  is  running  a  terrible 
danger  at  this  moment." 

"  Wah  !"  the  chief  said  ;  "  can  that 
be  true  1  Koutonepi  is  the  flesh  of  my 
bones  ;  who  touches  him  wounds  me. 
My  brother  will  explain." 

Black  Cat  then  narrated  to  Unicorn  the 
way  in  which  Valentine  had  saved  his 
life,  the  leagues  formed  by  the  Apaches 
and  other  nations  of  the  Far  West 
against  him,  and  the  critical  position  in 
which  the  hunter  now  was,  owing  to  the 
influence  of  Red  Cedar  with  the  In 
dians,  and  the  forces  he  had  at  his  com 
mand  at  this  moment.  Unicorn  shook 
his  head  over  the  story. 

"  Koutonepi  is  wise  and  intrepid," 
he  said  ;  "  loyalty  dwells  in  his  heart, 
but  he  cannot  resist — how  to  help  him  ? 
A  man,  however  brave  he  may  be,  is 
not  equal  to  one  hundred." 

"  Valentine  is  my  brother,"  tha 
Apache  answered  ;  "  I  have  sworn  to 
save  him.  But  what  can  1  do  alone  ?" 

Suddenly  a  woman  rushed  between 
the  two  chiefs  :  it  was  Sunbeam. 

"  If  my  master  permits,"  she  said 
with  a  suppliant  look  at  Unicorn,  "  I 
will  help  you:  a  woman  can  do  many 
things." 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which 
the  chief  regarded  the  squaw,  who 
stood  modest  and  motionless  before 
them. 

"  My  sister  is  brave,"  Black  Cat  at 
length  said  ;  "  but  a  woman  is  a  weak 
creature,  whose  help  is  of  but  very 
slight  weight  under  such  grave  circum 
stances." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said  boldly. 

"  Wife,"  Unicorn  said,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  "go  whither  your 
heart  calls  you  ;  save  iny  brother  and 
pay  the  debt  you  have  contracted  with 
him  :  my  eye  will  follow  you,  and  at 
the  first  signal  I  will  run  up." 

"Thanks,"  the  young  woman  said, 
joyfully,  and  kneeling  before  the  chief, 
she  affectionately  kissed  his  hand. 

Unicorn  went  on  : 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


51 


"  I  confide  this  woman  to  my  broth 
er — I  know  that  his  heart  is  great :  I 
am  at  my  ease ;  farewell." 

And  after  a  parting  signal  he  dis 
missed  his  guest;  the  chief  entered  his 
Culli  without  looking  back,  and  let  the 
buffalo-hide  curtain  fall  behind  him. 
Sunbeam  looked  after  him  ;  when  he 
had  disappeared,  she  turned  to  Black 
Cat. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said,  "  to  save  our 
friend." 

A  few  hours  later,  the  Apache  chief, 
followed  by  a  young  woman,  rejoined 
his  tribe  on  the  banks  of  the  Gila,  and 
on  the  next  day  but  one  Black  Cat  ar 
rived  with  his  entire  forces  at  the  Hill 
of  Mad  Buffalo. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE         MEETING. 

THE  preceding  explanations  given, 
we  will  resume  our  story  at  the  point 
where  we  left  it  at  the  end  of  ch.-ipter 
seven.  Sunbeam,  without  speaking, 
offered  the  Spanish  girl  a  piece  of  pa 
per,  a  species  of  wooden  skewer,  and  a 
shell  filled  with  blue  paint.  The  Ga 
zelle  gave  a  start  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  she  said. 

The  chief  smiled. 

"  The  whites  have  a  great  deal  of 
knowledge,"  he  said,  "  nothing  escapes 
them  ;  my  daughter  will  draw  a  collar 
for  the  pale  chief." 

"  Yes,"  she  murmered,  "  but  will  he 
believe  me1?" 

"  My  daughter  will  put  htr  heart  in 
that  paper,  and  the  white  hunter  will  re 
cognise  it." 

The  girl  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  Let  us  try,"  she  said. 

With  a  feverish  movement  she  took 
the  paperfrorn  Sunbeam's  hand,  hastily 
wrote  a  few  words,  and  returned  it  to 
the  young  Indian,  who  stood  motionless 
and  stoicul  before  her.  Sunbeam  roll 
ed  up  the  p'»per,  and  carefully  fastened 
it  rou.id  ar  irrow. 

"  Within  an  hour    it    will    be    deliv 
ered,"  she  said,  and  she  disappeared  in 
tRe  wood  with  the  lightness  of   a   star- 
3 


tied  fawn.  This  little  affair  took  her 
less  time  to  perform  than  we  have  been 
employed  in  describing  it.  When  the 
Indian  girl,  taught  long  before  by  Black 
C  it  the  part  she  had  to  play,  had  gone 
off  to  delivo  her  message,  the  chief 
said  : 

"You  see  that,  though  we  may  not 
save  them  all,  those  who  are  dear  to 
us  will  at  any  rate  escape." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  that  you  are 
not  mistaken,  father,"  the  girl  said. 

"  Wacondah  is  great :  His  power  is 
unbounded  :  He  can  do  every  thing : 
my  daughter  can  hope." 

After  this  a  long  conversation  took 
place  between  ttie  couple,  at  the  end  of 
which,  White  Gazelle  glided  unnoticed 
among  the  trees,  and  proceeded  to  a 
hill  a  short  distance  from  the  post  occu 
pied  by  the  whites,  called  Elk  Hill, 
where  she  had  given  Don  Pablo  the 
meeting.  At  the  thought  of  seeing  the 
Mexican  again,  the  girl  had  been  invol 
untarily  attacked  by  an  undefinable 
emotion  ;  she  felt  her  heart  contracted, 
and  all  her  limbs  trembled.  The  recol 
lection  of  what  had  passed  between  her 
and  him  so  short  a  time  back  still 
troubled  her  ideas,  and  rendered  the 
task  she  had  imposed  on  herself  even 
more  difficult. 

At  this  moment  she  was  no  longer 
the  rude  amazon  we  have  represented 
her  to  our  readers,  who,  hardened  since 
her  childhood  to  the  terrible  scenes  of 
prairie  life,  braved  the  greatest  perils. 
She  felt  herself  a  woman  ;  all  the  man 
liness  in  her  had  disappeared,  only 
leaving  a  timid,  trembling  girl,  who 
shuddered  to  find  herself  face  to  face 
with  the  man  whom  she  reproached  her 
self  with  having  so  cruelly  outraged, 
and  who,  perhaps,  on  seeing  her,  would 
not  condescend  to  enter  into  any  expla 
nation,  but  turn  his  back  on  her. 

All  these  thoughts  and  many  others 
whirled  about  in  her  brain  while  she 
proceeded  with  a  furtive  step  to  the 
place  of  meeting.  The  nearer  she  drew 
the  more  lively  her  fears  became,  for 
her  mind  retraced  with  greater  force 
the  indignity  of  her  previous  conduct. 
At  length  she  arrived,  and  found  the 
top  of  the  hill  still  deserted.  A  sigh  of 
relief  escaped  from  her  oppressed  chest, 


52 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


and  she  icturned  thanks  to  Heaven  for 
granting  her  a  few  moments'  respite  to 
prepare  herself  for  the  solemn  inter 
view  she  had  craved. 

But  the  first  moment  passed,  another 
anxiety  troubled  her;  she  feared  lest 
Don  Pablo  would  not  accept  her  invita 
tion,  but  despise  the  chance  of  safety 
offered  him.  Then,  with  her  head  thrust 
forward,  her  eyes  fixed  on  space,  and 
striving  to  sound  the  depths  of  the 
gloom,  she  waited  anxiously,  counting 
the  seconds.  No  one  has  yet  been 
able  to  calculate  how  many  centuries 
each  moment  is  composed  of  to  a  per 
son  who  is  waiting.  The  girl  was  begin 
ning  to  doubt  Don  Pablo's  arrival  ;  a 
gloomy  despair  seized  upon  her,  and  she 
cursed  the  material  responsibility  which 
nailed  her  inactively  to  the  spot. 

Let  us  describe  in  a  few  words  what 
was  happening  at  this  moment  on  the 
Hill  of  Mad  Buffalo.  Valentine,  Guru 
inilla  and  Don  Pablo,  seated  on  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  were  silently  smoking, 
each  thinking  apart  of  the  means  to  be 
employed  to  escape  from  the  painful 
position  in  which  they  were,  when  a 
shrill  whistle  was  heard,  and  a  long  ar 
row,  passing  rapidly  between  the  three 
men,  buried  itself  deeply  in  the  sods  of 
the  grassy  mount,  at  the  foot  of  which 
they  were  seated. 

"  What  is  that?"  Valentine,  the  first 
to  regain  his  coolness,  exclaimed.  "  By 
heavens !  can  the  red-skins  be  beginning 
the  attack  already  ?" 

"  Let  us  wake  our  friends,"  said  Don 
Pablo. 

"  A  friend  !"  grunted  Guru  mil  la,  who 
had  pulled  the  arrow  out  and  examined 
it  attentively. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  chief?"  the 
hunter  asked. 

"  Look !"  the  Indian  replied  laconi 
cally,  as  he  gave  him  the  arrow,  and 
pointed  to  the  paper  rolled  round  it. 

"  So  it  is,"  Valentine  said,  as  he  un 
fastened  the  paper,  while  Curumilla 
picked  up  a  burning  log  and  held  it  to 
him  as  a  candle. 

"  Hum  !"  Don  Pablo  muttered,  "  this 
mode  of  corresponding  appears  to  me 
rather  strange." 

"  We  will  see  what  it  all  means/'  the 
hunter  answered. 


He  unfolded  the  paper,  on  which  a 
'ew  lines  were  written  in  Spanish,  and 
read  the  following ; 

"  The  palefaces  are  lost ;  the  Indian 
tribes,  assembled  from  all  parts  and 
helped  by  the  Pirates  of  the  Prairies, 
surround  them.  The  white  men  have 
no  help  to  expect  from  anybody.  Uni- 
;orn  is  too  far  off,  Bloodson  too  much  en 
gaged  in  defending  himself  to  have  time 
to  think  of  them.  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate 
can,  if  he  likes,  escape  the  death  that 
menaces  him,  and  save  those  who  are 
dear  to  him.  His  fate  is  in  his  own 
hands.  So  soon  as  he  has  received  this, 
let  him  leave  his  camp  and  proceed 
alone  to  Elk  Hill,  where  he  will  meet  a 
person  prepared  to  supply  him  with  the 
means  he  must  seek  in  vain  elsesvhere  ; 
this  person  will  await  Don  Pablo  till 
sunrise.  lie  is  implored  not  to  neglect 
this  warning ;  to-morrow  will  be  too 
late  to  save  him,  for  he  would  infallibly 
succumb  in  a  mad  struggle. 

"  A  FRIEND." 

On  reading  this  strange  missive,  the 
young  man  let  his  head  sink  on  his 
chest,  and  remained  for  a  long  time 
plunged  in  deep  thought. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  he  muttered. 

"  Why  go,  hang  it  all !"  Valentine 
answered  ;  "  who  knows  whether  this 
scrap  of  paper  may  not  contain  the 
salvation  of  all  of  us  ?" 

"  But  suppose  it  is  treachery  ?' 

"  Treachery  !  nonsense,  my  friend, 
you  must  be  joking.  The  Indians  are 
thorough  rogues  and  traitors,  1  grant ; 
but  they  have  a  fearful  terror  of  any 
thing  written,  which  they  believe  ema 
nates  from  the  genius  of  evil.  No,  this 
letter  does  not  come  from  the  Indians. 
As  for  the  pirates,  they  can  use  a  rifle 
very  well,  but  are  completely  ignorant 
of  a  goose-quill ;  and  I  declare,  from 
here  to  Monterey  on  one  side  and  to 
New  York  on  the  other,  you  will  not 
find  one  who  knows  how  to  write.  This 
letter,  therefore,  emanates  from  a  friend; 
but  who  that  friend  is,  is  more  difficult 
to  guess." 

"  Then  your  opinion  is  to  grant  the 
meeting  ?" 

"  Why  not?  taking,  of  course,  all  the 
precautions  usual  in  such  a  case." 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


53 


"  Must  I  go  alone  ?" 

"Canarios!  people  always  go  alone 
to  such  meetings:  that  is  settled,"  Val 
entine  said  with  a  grin ;  "still,  they  are 
accompanied,  and  would  be  fools  were 
they  not." 

"  Assuming  that  I  am  willing  to  fol 
low  your  advice,  I  cannot  leave  my 
father  alone  here." 

"  Your  father  is  safe  for  the  present  ; 
besides,  he  has  with  him  the  general 
and  Curumilla,  who,  I  answer  for  it, 
will  not  let  him  be  surprised  in  our  ab 
sence.  However,  that  is  your  affair  ; 
still,  I  would  observe,  that  under  cir 
cumstances  so  critical  as  ours,  all  se 
condary  considerations  ought  to  be  laid 
aside.  Canarios,  friend  !  think  that  the 
safety  of  all  of  us  may  be  the  reward 
of  the  venture." 

"  You  are  right,  brother,"  the  young 
man  said  boldly ;  "  who  knows  whether 
I  might  not  have  to  reproach  myself 
with  your  death  and  my  father's  if  I 
neglected  this  hint?  I  go." 

"  Good,"  the  hunter  said,  "  do  so  ;  for 
my  part,  I  know  what  is  left  me  to  do. 
Be  at  your  ease,"  he  added  with  his 
ironical  smile ;  "  you  will  go  alone  to 
the  meeting,  but  if  you  need  help,  I 
shall  not  be  long  in  making  my  appear 
ance." 

"  Very  good  ;  but  the  chief  point  is 
to  leave  this  place  and  reach  Elk  Hill 
unnoticed  by  the  thousand  tiger-cat  eyes 
the  Apaches  are  probably  fixing  on  us 
at  this  moment." 

"Trust  to  me  for  that,"  the  hunter 
answered. 

In  fact,  a  few  minutes  later,  Don 
Pablo,  guided  by  Valentine,  was  climb 
ing  up  Elk  Hill,  unnoticed  by  the 
Apaches. 

In  the  meanwhile,  White  Gazelle 
was  still  waiting,  her  body  bent  for 
ward,  and  listening  for  the  slightest 
sound  that  would  reveal  the  presence 
of  the  man  she  had  so  earnestly  begged 
to  come.  Suddenly  a  rough  hand  was 
laid  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  mockin«- 
voice  muttered  in  her  ear : 

"Hilloh,  Nina,  what  are  you  doing 
so  far  from  the  carnp  ?  are  you  afraid 
Jest  your  enemies  should  escape?'' 

The  Spaniard  turned  with  an  ill-dis 


guised  movement  of  disgust,  and  saw 
Nathan,  Red  Cedar's  eldest  son. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  the  bandit  went  on; 
"does  that  astonish  you,  Nina?  We 
arrived  an  hour  ago  with  the  finest  col 
lection  of  vultures  that  can  be  ima 
gined." 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  here  ?"  she 
said,  scarce  knowing  why  she  asked  the 
question. 

"  Oh  !"  he  continued,  "  I  have  also 
come  to  revenge  myself;  I  left  my 
father  and  the  others  down  there,  and 
have  come  to  explore  the  country  a 
little.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  sinister 
laugh,  "  that  is  not  the  question  at  this 
moment.  What  the  deuce  sets  you 
roaming  about  at  this  time  of  night,  at 
the  risk  of  having  an  unpleasant  en 
counter  ?" 

"  What  have  I  to  fear — am  I  not 
armed  ?" 

"  That  is  true,"  the  pirate  replied 
with  a  grin  ;  "  but  you  are  pretty,  and 
devil  take  me  if  I  don't  know  fellows 
who,  in  my  place,  would  laugh  at  the 
playthings  you  have  in  your  girdle. 
Yes,  you  are  very  pretty,  Nina,  don't  you 
know  it  ?  Hang  me,  as  no  one  has  yet 
told  you  so,  I  feel  very  much  inclined 
to  do  so  ;  what's  your  opinion,  eh  ?" 

"  The  wretch  is  mad  with  drink,"  the 
girl  muttered,  as  she  saw  the  brigand's 
flushed  face,  and  his  staggering  legs. 
'•  Leave  me,"  she  said  to  him,  "  the 
hour  is  badly  chosen  for  jesting,  we 
have  more  important  matters  to  ar 
range." 

"  Stuff,  we  are  all  mortal,  anJ  hang 
me  if  I  care  what  may  happen  to-mor 
row  !  On  the  contrary,  I  find  the  hour 
splendidly  chosen  ;  we  are  alone,  no  one 
can  over  hear  us  ;  what  prevents  us, 
then,  from  expressing  our  adoration  of 
one  another  ?" 

"  No  one,  were  it  true,"  the  girl  an 
swered  resolutely  ;  "  but  1  am  not  in 
the  humor  to  listen  to  your  chatterin^  • 
so  be  good  enough  to  withdraw.  I  am 
awaiting  here  the  war  party  of  the 
Buffalo  Apaches,  who  will  soon  arrive 
and  take  up  their  position  on  this  hill  • 
instead  of  losing  precious  time,  you 
would  do  better  to  join  Bed  Cedar  and 
Stanapat,  with  whom  you  must  settle 


54 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


all  the  details  of  the  enemy's  attack." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  bandit  answered, 
the  words  having  slightly  sobered  him. 
"  You  are  right,  Nina,  I  will  go ;  but 
what  is  put  off  is  not  lost;  I  hope  on 
some  other  day  to  find  you  not  so  wild, 
my  dear.  Goodt  bye  !" 

And,  carelessly  turning,  the  bandit 
threw  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and  went 
down  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the 
Apache  camp.  The  young  Spaniard, 
left  alone,  congratulated  herself  on  es 
caping  the  danger  that  had  momentarily 
threatened  her,  for  she  had  trembled 
lest  Don  Pablo  might  arrive  while 
Nathan  was  with  her.  Still,  the  news 
of  Red  Cedar's  position  heightened 
White  Gazelle's  apprehensions  and  re 
doubled  her  alarm  about  those  whom 
she  had  resolved  to  save  at  all  hazards. 
At  the  moment  when  she  no  longer 
hoped  to  see  the  young  man,  and  was 
looking  out  for  him  more  to  satisfy  her 
conscience  than  in  the  chance  of  seeing 
him,  she  saw,  a  little  distance  off,  a 
man  hurriedly  walking  towards  her, 
and  guessed,  more  than  recognised,  that 
it  was  Don  Pablo. 

"  At  last !"  she  exclaimed  joyfully, 
as  she  rushed  to  meet  him. 

The  young  man  was  soon  by  her 
side,  but  on  perceiving  who  it  was,  he 
fell  back  a  pace. 

"You,"  he  said;  "did  you  write  to 
ask  me  fyere  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "  I  did." 

"  What  can  there  be  in  common  be 
tween  us  ?"  Don  Pablo  said,  contemp 
tuously. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  crush  me  ;  I  now  can 
understand  how  culpable  and  unworthy 
my  conduct  was :  pardon  a  madness 
which  I  deplore.  Listen  to  me ;  in 
Heaven's  name  do  not  despise  the  ad 
vice  I  am  about  to  give  you,  for  your 
life  and  that  of  those  you  love  are  at 
stake." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  madam,"  the  young 
rnan  replied  coldly  ;  "  during  the  few 
hours  we  were  together,  I  learnt  to 
know  you  sufficiently  to  place  no  faith 
in  any  of  your  protestations ;  I  have 
only  one  regret  at  this  moment,  and 
that  is,  in  having  allowed  myself  to 
enter  the  snare  you  have  laid  for.rne." 


"  I  lay  a  snare  for  you !"  she  ex 
claimed  indignantly,  "  when  I  would 
gladly  shed  the  last  drop  of  my  blood 
to  save  you." 

"  Save  me — nonsense !  ruin  me,  you 
mean,"  Don  Pablo  continued,  with  a 
smile  of  contempt;  "do  you  fancy  me 
so  foolish?  Be  frank,  at  least;  your 
project  has  succeeded,  and  I  am  in  your 
hands ;  produce  your  accomplices,  who 
are  doubtless  hidden  behind  those  trees, 
and  I  will  not  do  them  the  honor  of  dis 
puting  my  life  with  them." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !"  the  girl  exclaimed, 
as  she  writhed  her  hands  in  despair, 
"am  I  not  sufficiently  punished,  Don 
Pablo  1  Listen  to  me,  for  mercy's  sake  ! 
in  a  few  minutes  it  will  be  too  late ;  1 
wish  to  save  you,  I  say." 

"  You  lie  impudently,"  Valentine  ex 
claimed,  as  he  leaped  from  a  thicket ; 
"  only  a  moment  ago,  at  that  very  spot, 
you  told  Nathan,  the  worthy  son  of 
your  accomplice,  Red  Cedar,  of  the  ar 
rival  of  an  Apache  war  party ;  deny  it, 
if  you  dare." 

This  revelation  was  a  thunderbolt  for 
the  girl ;  she  felt  that  it  would  be  im 
possible  for  her  to  disabuse  the  man 
she  loved,  and  convince  him  of  her  in 
nocence,  in  the  face  of  this  apparently 
so  evident  proof  of  her  treachery.  She 
fell  crushed  at  the  young  man's  feet. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  with  disgust,  "  this 
wretched  woman  is  my  evil  genius." 

He  made  a  movement  to  retire. 

"A  moment,"  Valentine  exclaimed, 
as  he  stopped  him  ;  "  matters  must  not 
end  thus  :  let  us  destroy  this  creature 
ere  she  causes  us  to  be  massacred." 

He  coldly  placed  the  muzzle  of  a  pis 
tol  on  the  girl's  temple,  and  she  did  not 
flinch  to  escape  the  fate  that  threatened 
her. 

But  Don  Pablo  hastily  seized  his  arm. 

"  Valentine,"  he  said,  "  what  are  you 
about,  my  friend  ?" 

"  It  is  true,"  the  hunter  replied  ; 
"  when  so  near  death,  I  will  not  dishonor 
myself  by  killing  this  wretch." 

"Well  done,  brother,"  Don  Pablo 
said,  as  he  gave  a  glance  of  scorn  to  the 
Gazelle,  who  implored  him  in  vain ; 
'!men  like  us  do  not  assassinate  wo 
men.  Let  us  leave  her  and  sell  our 
lives  dearly." 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


55 


"  Nonsense ;  death,  perhaps,  :s  not  so 
near  as  you  may  fancy  ;  for  my  part,  I 
do  not  despair  about  getting  out  of  this 
wasps'  nest." 

They  took  an  anxious  glance  into  the 
valley  to  reconnoitre  their  position  ;  the 
darkness  was  almost  dissipated  ;  the 
sun,  though  still  invisible,  tinged  the 
sky  with  those  reddish  gleams  which 
precedes  its  appearance  by  a  few  mo 
ments.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
the  plain  was  covered  by  powerful  In 
dian  detachments. 

The  two  men  saw  that  they  had  but 
a  very  slight  chance  of  regaining  their 
fortress ;  still,  accustomed  as  they  were 
to  attempt  impossibilities  daily,  they 
were  not  discouraged  in  the  presence  of 
the  imminent  danger  that  menaced 
them.  After  silently  shaking  hands, 
these  two  brave  men  raised  their  heads 
proudly,  and  with  calm  brow  and  flash 
ing  eye  prepared  to  confront  the  hor 
rible  death  that  awaited  them,  if  they 
were  discovered. 

"  Stay,  in  Heaven's  name,"  the  maid 
en  exclaimed,  as  she  dragged  herself 
on  her  knees  to  Don  Pablo's  feet. 

"  Back,  viper,"  the  latter  answered, 
"  let  us  die  bravely." 

"  But  I  will  not  have  you  die,"  she 
replied,  with  a  piercing  cry  ;  "  I  repeat 
that  I  will  save  you,  if  you  consent." 

"  Save  us  !  GOD  alone  can  do  that," 
the  young  man  said  mournfully  ;  "  be 
glad  that  we  will  not  sully  our  hands 
with  your  perfidious  blood,  and  do  not 
trouble  us  further." 

"  Oh- !  nothing  will  convince  you 
then  !"  she  said,  with  despair. 

"Nothing,"  the  Mexican  answered 
coldly. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  her  eye  beam 
ing  with  joy,  "  I  have  found  it.  Fol 
low  me,  and  you  shall  join  your  friends 
again." 

Don  Pablo,  who  had  already  gone 
some  yards,  turned  back  with  hesita 
tion. 

"What  do  you  fear?"  she  said; 
"you  will  still  be  able  to  kill  me  if  I 
deceive  you.  Oh,"  she  added  madly, 
"  what  do  I  care  for  death,  so  that  I  save 
you  !" 

"  Strange  creature,"  the  hunter  said, 
as  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of 


his  rough  hand  ;  "  she  is  quite  capable 
of  doing  what  she  says." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Don  Pablo  replied, 
shaking  his  head  gloomily  :  "  but  our 
position  is  truly  desperate,  my  friend." 

"  A  man  can  only  die  once,  after  all," 
the  hunter  remarked  philosophically,  as 
he  threw  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder ; 
"I  am  most  curious  to  know  how  all 
this  will  end." 


CHAPTER    X. 

A    WAR      STRATAGEM. 

THE  two  men  followed  her,  and  the 
three  began  crawling  through  the  tall 
grass  and  silently  descending  the  hill. 
This  painful  march  was  necessarily 
slow,  owing  to  the  innumerable  precau 
tions  the  fugitives  were  obliged  to  take 
so  as  not  to  be  seen  or  tracked  by  the 
scouts  the  Indians  had  scattered  all 
around  to  watch  the  movements  of  the 
white  men,  and  of  any  relief  which 
might  come  to  them. 

White  Gazelle  walked  actively  in 
front  of  the  hunters,  looking  cautiously 
around,  stopping  to  listen  anxiously  to 
the  slightest  sound  in  the  bushes ;  and 
when  her  fears  were  calmed,  she  went 
on  giving  the  men  she  guided  a  smile 
of  encouragement. 

"  Sold  !"  Valentine  said,  with  a  laugh 
all  at  once,  as  he  rested  his  rifle  on  the 
ground  ;  "  come,  come,  the  little  wench 
is  cleverer  than  I  fancied." 

The  two  men  were  surrounded  by  a 
numerous  party  of  Apache  Indians. 
Don  Pablo  did  not  utter  a  word  ;  he 
only  looked  at  the  girl,  who  continued 
to  smile. 

"  Bah !"  the  Frenchman  muttered 
philosophically  in  an  aside ;  "  I  shall 
kill  my  seven  or  eight  of  them,  and  af 
ter  that,  we  shall  see." 

Completely  reassured  by  this  consol 
ing  reflection,  the  hunter  at  once  re 
gained  all  his  clearness  of  mind,  and 
looked  curiously  around  him.  They 
we're  in  the  midst  of  Black  Cat's  war 
party,  and  that  chief  now  walked  up  to 
the  hunter. 


56 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  My  brother  is  welcome  among  the 
Buffalo  Apaches,"  he  snid,  nobly. 

"Why  jest,  chief?"  Valentine  re 
marked  ;  "  I  am  your  prisoner,  do  with 
nie  what  you  think  proper." 

"Black  Cat  does  not  jest ;  the  great 
pale-hunter  is  not  his  prisoner,  but  his 
friend  ;  he  has  but  to  command  and 
Black  Cat  will  execute  his  orders." 

"What  mean  these  words?"  the 
Frenchman  said,  with  astonishment ; 
"  are  you  not  here,  like  all  the  mem 
bers  of  your  nation,  to  seize  my  friends 
and  myself?" 

"  Such  was  my  intention,  I  allow, 
when  I  left  my  village  some  days  back, 
but  my  heart  has  changed  since  my 
brother  saved  my  life,  and  he  may  have 
perceived  it  already.  If  I  have  come 
here  it  is  not  to  fight,  but  to  save  him 
and  his  friends ;  my  brother  can,  there 
fore,  place  confidence  in  my  words — 
my  tribe  will  obey  him  as  myself.'"' 

Valentine  reflected  for  a  moment, 
then  he  said,  as  he  looked  searchingly 
at  the  chief: 

"  And  what  does  Black  Cat  ask  in  re 
turn  for  the  help  he  offers  me  ?" 

"  Nothing ;  the  pale  hunter  is  my 
brother ;  if  we  succeed  he  will  do  as 
he  pleases." 

"  Come,  come,  all  is  for  the  best," 
Valentine  said,  as  he  turned  to  the  girl  ; 
"  I  was  mistaken,  so  I  will  ask  you  to 
forgive  me." 

White  Gazelle  blushed  with  delight 
at  these  words. 

"  Then,"  Valentine  continued,  ad 
dressing  the  Indian  chief,  "I  can  en 
tirely  dispose  of  your  young  men  ?" 

"Entirely. 

"  They  will  be  devoted  to  me?" 

"  I  have  said  so,  as  to  myself." 

"  Good  !"  said  the  hunter,  as  his  face 
brightened  ;  "  how  many  warriors  have 
you?" 

Black  Cat  held  up  ten  times  the  fin 
gers  of  his  opened  hands. 

"  One  hundred  ?"  Valentine  asked. 

"Yes,''  the  chief  replied,  "and  eight 
more." 

"  But  the  other  tribes  are  far  more 
numerous  than  yours  ?" 

"They  form  a  band  of  warriors 
twenty-two  times  and  seven  times  more 
numerous  than  mine." 


"Hum!  that  is  a  tidy  lot,  without 
counting  the  pirates." 

"  Wan  !  there  are  thrice  the  number 
of  the  fingers  of  my  two  hands  of  the 
Long-knives  of  the  East.'' 

"  I  fear,"  Don  Pablo  observed,  "that 
we  shall  be  crushed  by  the  number  of 
our  enemies." 

"Perhaps  so,"  Valentine,  who  was 
reflecting,  answered;  "where  is  Bed 
Cedar?" 

"  Red  Cedar  is  with  his  brothers,  the 
prairie  half-breeds;  he  has  joined  Stan- 
apat's  party." 

At  this  moment  the  Apache  war-cry- 
burst  forth  on  the  plain,  a  tremendous 
discharge  was  heard,  and  the  Hill  of 
the  Mad  Buffalo  seemed  begirt  by  a 
halo  of  smoke  and  flashing  lightning. 
The  battle  had  began..  The  Indians 
bravely  mounted  to  the  assault.  They 
marched  toward  the  hill,  continually 
discharging  their  muskets,  and  firing 
arrows  at  their  invisible  enemies. 

At  the  spot  where  the  chain  of  hills 
touches  the  Gila,  fresh  parties  of  Apa 
ches  could  be  seen  incessantly  arriving. 
They  came  up  at  a  gallop,  by  troops 
of  three  to  twenty  men  at  a  time. 
Their  horses  were  covered  with  foam, 
leading  to  the  presumption  that  they 
had  made  a  loug  journey. 

The  Apaches  were  in  their  war 
paint,  covered  with  all  sorts  of  orna 
ments  and  arms,  with  their  bow  and 
quiver  on  their  back,  and  their  musket 
in  their  hands.  Their  heads  were  crown 
ed  with  feathers,  among  them  being 
several  magnificent  black  and  white  eagle 
plumes,  with  the  large  falling  crest. 
Seated  on  handsome  saddle-cloths  of 
panther  skin,  lined  with  red,  all  had  the 
lower  part  of  the  body  naked,  with  the 
exception  of  a  long  strip  of  wolf  skin 
passed  over  the  shoulder.  Their  shields 
were  ornamented  with  feathers,  and  par 
ty-coloured  cloth.  These  men,  thus  ac 
coutred,  had  something  grand  and  majes 
tic  about  them  which  affected  the  ima 
gination  and  inspired  terror. 

Many  of  them  at  once  climbed  the 
heights,  lashing  their  wearied  horses,  so 
to  arrive  sooner  at  the  battlefield,  while 
singing  and  uttering  their  war-cry. 

The  contest  seemed  most  obstinate 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  palisades  ; 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


57 


the  two  Mexicans  and  Curumilla,  pro 
tected  behind  their  entrenchments,  re 
plied  to  the  Apaches  with  a  deadly  fire, 
bravely  exciting  each  other  to  die  wea 
pons  in  hand.  Several  corpses  already 
lay  on  the  plain  ;  riderless  horses  gal 
loped  in  every  direction,  and  the  crie 
of  the  wounded  were  mingled  with  the 
yells  of  defiance  of  the  assailants. 

What  we  have  described  in  so  many 
words,  Valentine  and  Don  Pablo  per 
ceived  in  a  few  seconds,  with  the  infalli 
ble  glance  of  men  long  accustomed  to 
prairie  life. 

"  Come,  chief,"  the  hunter  said,  quick 
ly,  "  we  must  rejoin  our  friends  ;  help 
us;  if  not,  they  are  lost." 

"  Good,"  Black  Cat  answered  ;  t:  the 
pale  hunter  will  place  himself,  with  his 
friend,  in  the  midst  of  my  detachment ; 
in  a  few  minutes  he  will  be  on  the  hill. 
Above  all,  the  pale  chief  must  leave  me 
to  act." 

"  Do  so  ;  I  trust  entirely  to  you." 

Black  Cat  said  a  few  words  in  a  low 
voice  to  the  warriors  who  accompanied 
him;  they  at  once  collected  round  the 
two  hunters,  who  entirely  disappeared 
in  their  midst. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  Don  Pablo  said,  anxiously, 
"just  look  at  this,  my  friend." 

Valentine  smiled  as  he  took  his  arm. 

"  1  have  read  the  chiefs  intention," 
he  said,  "  he  is  employing  the  only 
way  possible.  Do  not  be  alarmed,  all 
is  for  the  best." 

Black  Cat  placed  himself  at  the  head 
of  his  detachment,  and  gave  a  signal. 
A  fearful  yell  burst  through  the  air — the 
Buffalo  tribe  had  sounded  its  war-cry. 
The  Apaches,  carrying  the  two  men  with 
them,  rushed  furiously  toward  the  hill, 
and  ere  Valentine  and  Don  Pablo  knew 
what  was  happening,  they  had  rejoined 
their  friends,  and  Black"  Cat's  warriors 
fled  in  every  direction,  as  if  a  fearful 
panic  had  seized  on  them. 

Still  the  fight  was  not  over  ;  Stana- 
pat's  Indians  rushed  like  tigers  on  the 
palisades,  and  let  themselves  be  killed 
without  recoiling  an  inch.  The  fight, 
if  prolonged,  must  end  fatally  to  the 
whites,  whose  strength  was  becoming 
exhausted.  Stanapat  and  Red  Cedar  un 
derstood  this,  and  hence  redoubled  their 
efforts)  to  crush  the  enemy. 


Suddenly,  at  the  moment  when  tha 
Apaches  rushed  furiously  against  the 
whites  to  attempt  a  final  assault,  the 
war-cry  of  the  Coras  was  heard,  mingled 
with  the  discharge  of  fire-arms.  The 
Apaches  were  surprised,  and  hesitated  ; 
Red  Cedar  looked  around,  and  uttered 
a  curse;  the  war-cry  of  the  Comanches 
rose  behind  the  camp. 

"  Forward  !  forward  at  all  risks  !"  the 
squatter  howled,  as,  followed  by 
his  sons  and  some  of  his  men,  he  rush- 
by  toward  the  hill. 

But  the  scene  had  changed  as  if  by 
enchantment.  Black  Cat,  on  seeing  the 
help  that  had  arrived  for  his  friends,  ef 
fected  a  junction  with  Unicorn  ;  the  uni 
ted  bands  attacked  the  Apaches  on  the 
flank,  while  Moukapec,  at  the  head  of 
two  hundred  picked  warriors  of  his  na 
tion,  rushed  on  their  rear. 

The  flight  began,  and  soon  changed 
into  a  rout  ;  Red  Cedar,  and  a  small 
party  of  pirates  collected  around  him, 
alone  offered  any  resistance.  From  as 
sailants  they  had  become  assailed,  and 
there  must  be  an  end  to  it,  or  in  a  few 
minutes  all  would  be  over,  as  their  re 
treat  would  be  cut  off". 

"Hurrah  !"  Red  Cedar  shouted,  as  he 
waved  his  rifle  over  his  head  like  a 
mace ;  "  down  with  the  dogs  !  take 
their  scalps  !" 

"  Take  their  scalps  !"  his  companions 
exclaimed,  imitating  his  movements, 
and  massacreing  all  that  opposed  their 
passage. 

They  had  managed  to  clear  a  bloody 
way,  and  were  slowly  moving  toward 
the  river,  when  a  man  boldly  threw 
himself  before  Red  Cedar — it  was  Mouk 
apec. 

"  I  bring  you  my  scalp,  dog  of  the 
pale- faces  !"  he  shouted,  as  he  dealt  a 
blow  at  him  with  his  tomahwk. 

"Thanks,"  the  bandit  answered,  as  he 
parried  the  blow. 

Eagle-wing  bounded  forward  like  a 
hyena,  and  before  his  enemy  could  pre 
vent  it,  buried  his  knife  in  his  thigh. 
Red  Cedar  uttered  a  yell  of  rage  on 
feeling  himself  wounded,  and  drew  his 
knife  with  one  hand,  while  with  the 
other  he  seized  the  Indian  by  the  throat. 
The  latter  felt  that  he  was  lost  j  the 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


blade  flashed  above  his  head,  and  was 
buried  to  the  hilt  in  his  chest. 

"Ah  !  ah  !"  Red  Cedar  grinned,  as  he 
let  down  his  enemy  who  rolled  on  the 
ground,  "  I  fancy  our  accounts  are  set 
tled  this  time." 

"  Not  yet,"  the  Coras  said,  with  a 
triumphant  smile,  and  with  a  dying  ef 
fort  he  fired  his  rifle  at  the  squatter. 

4  The  latter  let  go  his  reins,  and  fell  by 
the  side  of  the  Indian. 

"  I  die  avenged,"  Eagle-wing  said,  as 
he  writhed  in  a  last  convulsion. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  dead  yet,"  lied  Cedar 
replied,  as  he  rose  on  one  knee  and  cleft 
the  Indian's  skull ;  "  I  shall  escape, 
never  fear." 

Red  Cedar's  shoulder  was  broken, 
still,  thanks  to  the  help  of  his  comrades, 
who  did  not  give  ground  an  inch,  he  was 
able  to  get  on  his  horse  again,  and  Sut- 
ter  and  Nathan  fastened  him  to  the  sad 
dle. 

"  Back !  back  !"  he  shouted,  "  else  we 
are  lost !  each  man  for  himself!" 

The.  pirates  obeyed  him,  and  began 
flying  in  various  directions,  closely  fol 
lowed  by  the  Comanches  and  Coras. 
Still  they  managed  some  to  reach  the 
virgin  forest,  where  they  disappeared, 
others  the  river,  which  they  swam,  Red 
Cedar  being  one  of  the  former. 

Valentine  and  his  friends,  as  soon  as 
they  saw  the  issue  of  the  fight,  hasten 
ed  to  leave  the  hill  of  the  Mad  Buffalo, 
and  went  down  into  the  plain  with  the 
intention  of  capturing  Red  Cedar;  un 
fortunately  they  only  arrived  in  time 
to  see  him  disappear  in  the  distance ; 
still,  the  unexpected  result  of  the  fight 
had  done  them  an  immense  service,  not 
only  by  rescuing  them  from  the  false 
position  in  which  they  were,  but  also  by 
breaking  up  the  league  of  the  Indian 
tribes,  who,  startled  by  the  immense 
losses  they  had  suffered,  would  doubtless 
retire  and  leave  the  white  men  to  settle 
their  disputes  without  interfering  fur 
ther  in  the  quarrel. 

As  for  Red  Cedar,  his  band  was  an 
nihilated  or  dispersed,  while  himself, 
seriously  wounded,  was  no  longer  to  be 
feared.  The  capture  of  this  man, 
forced  to  wander  like  a  wild  beast  over 
the  prairie,  only  became  a  question  of 
time.  Stanapat  had  also  escaped  with 


a  few  warriors,  no  one  knowing  in  what 
direction  he  had  gone. 

Tiie  three  united  parties  camped  on 
the  battle-field,  according  to  their  cus 
tom.  The  Indians  first  occupied  them 
selves  with  scalping  the  corpses  of  their 
of  their  enemies.  Singular  to  say,  the 
victors  had  made  no  prisoners  ;  the 
fight  had  been  so  obstinate,  that  every 
man  had  only  thought  of  killing  his 
enemy,  instead  of  seizing  him.  Mouk- 
apec's  body  was  raised  respectfully, 
and  interred  on  the  Hill  of  Mad  Buffalo, 
by  the  side  of  the  terrible  chief  who 
had  first  chosen  the  sepulchre.  The 
sun  set  at  the  moment  when  the  last 
duties  had  been  paid  to  the  fallen  war 
rior,  and  the  council  fires  were  lighted. 
When  all  had  taken  their  seats,  and  the 
calumet  had  gone  the  round,  Valentine 
rose. 

"  Chiefs,"  he  said,  "  my  friends  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  generous  efforts  in 
trying  to  deliver  the  prairies  of  the  Far 
West  from  the  bandit  who  has  so  long 
desolated  them ;  we  are  not  merely 
pursuing  an  idle  vengeance,  but  a  work 
of  humanity  ;  this  villain  dishonors  the 
name  of  man,  and  the  race  to  which  he 
belongs.  At  the  present  moment,  of 
the  numerous  bandits  who  accompanied 
him,  few  are  left  him.  The  band  of  the 
malefactors,  which  was  the  terror  of 
the  prairies,  no  longer  exists ;  and 
their  chief,  I  feel  convinced,  will  soon 
fall  into  our  power.  Be  ready,  when 
necessary,  to  help  us,  as  you  have  done 
to-day  ;  until  then,  return  to  your  vil 
lages,  and  believe  that,  far  or  near,  we 
shall  retain  the  recollection  of  the  ser 
vices  you  have  rendered  us,  and  that, 
in  case  of  need,  you  can  count  on  us  as 
we  have  ever  done  on  you." 

After  uttering  these  words  which  the 
Indians  applauded,  Valentine  sat  down 
again.  There  was  a  lengthened  silence, 
employed  by  the  Indians  in  conscien 
tiously  smoking  their  calumets. 

Black  Cat  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

"  Let  my  brothers  listen,"  he  said  ; 
"  the  words  I  utter  are  inspired  by  the 
Master  of  Life  ;  the  cloud  that  obscured 
my  mind  has  passed  away  since  my  Co 
ras  and  Cornanche  brothers,'  those  two 
brave  nations,  have  restored  me  the 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


59 


place,  to  which  I  had  a  right,  tit  their 
council  fires.  Unicorn  is  a  wise  chief, 
his  friendship  is  precious  to  me.-  I  hope 
that  the  Waconduh  will  never  allow 
between  him  and  me,  or  between  my 
youn<r  men  and  his,  during  the  next 
thousand  and  fifty  moons,  the  slightest 
misunderstanding  which  may  rupture 
the  friendship  existing  at  this  moment." 

Unicorn  removed  his  pipe  from  his 
lips,  bowed  to  Black  Cat  with  a  smile, 
and  answered : 

"  My  brother  Black  Cat  has  spoken 
well ;  my  heart  quivered  with  joy  on 
hearing  him.  Why  should  we  not  be 
friends'?  is  not  the  prairie  large  enough 
and  wide  enough  for  us  ?  are  not  the 
buffaloes  sufficiently  numerous?  let  my 
brothers  listen :  I  seek  around  me  in 
vain  the  war-hatchet ;  it  is  buried  so 
deeply,  that  the  sons  and  the  grandsons 
of  our  children  will  never  succeed  in 
digging  it  up." 

Other  speeches  were  made  by  sever 
al  chiefs,  and  the  best  intelligence  did 
not  cease  to  reign  between  the  allies. 
At  daybreak,  they  separated  in  the 
most  cordial  manner,  each  returning  to 
bis  village. 

Valentine  and  his  party  remained 
alone. 

White  Gazelle  was  leaning  pensively 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  a  tew  paces 
from  them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN     THE      FOREST. 

» 

RED  CEDAR,  carried  a  long  distance 
from  the  battle-field  by  the  furious  gal 
loping  of  his  steed,  which  he  had  no 
longer  the  strength  to  control,  went  on 
straight  ahead,  not  knowing  what  direc 
tion  he  was  following.  In  this  man, 
hitherto  so  firm,  and  who  possessed  so 
energetic  a  will,  the  thoughts  were 
overclouded  as  if  by  enchantment : 
the  loss  of  blood,  the  repeated  jolts  his 
horse  gave  him,  had  plunged  him  into 
a  state  of  insensibility.  ILid  he  not 
been  so  securely  fastened  to  his  saddle, 
he  would  have  fallen  from  it  twenty 
times. 


He  went  on  with  hanging  arms,  body 
bent  over  his  horse's  neck,  and  eyes 
half  closed,  hardly  conscious  of  what 
happened  to  him,  or  trying  to  discover. 
Shaken  to  the  right,  shaken  to  the  left, 
he  watched  with  unmeaning  eye  the 
trees  and  rocks  fly  past  on  either  side  : 
no  longer  thinking,  but  living  in  a  hor 
rible  dream,  a  prey  to  the  strangest 
and  wildest  hallucinations.  Night  suc 
ceeded  to  day  :  his  horse  continued  its 
journey,  bounding  like  a  frightened  jag 
uar  over  the  obstacles  that  opposed  it, 
followed  by  a  pack  of  howling  coyotes, 
and  seeking  in  vain  to  get  rid  of  the  in 
ert  weight  that  oppressed  it. 

At  length  the  horse  stumble'd  in  the 
darkness,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  utter 
ing  a  plaintive  neigh.  Up  to  this  mo 
ment  Red  Cedar  had  preserved — we 
will  not  say  a  complete  and  clear 
knowledge  of  the  position  in  which  he 
was — but  at  any  rate  a  certain  con 
sciousness  of  the  life  that  still  dwelt 
in  him.  When  his  exhausted  horse 
fell,  the  bandit  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his 
head,  and  that  was  all ;  he  fainted  away 
while  stammering  an  imprecation,  the 
last  protest  of  the  villain,  who,  to  the 
last  moment,  denied  the  existence  of 
that  God  who  smote  him. 

When  he  re-opened  his  eyes,  under 
the  impression  of  an  indefinable  feeling 
of  comfort,  the  sun  was  shining  through 
the  tufted  branches  of  the  forest  trees, 
and  the  birds,  concealed  beneath  the 
green  foliage,  were  singing  their  joyous 
concerts.  Red  Cedar  gave  vent  to  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  looked  languidly 
around  him  ;  his  horse  was  lying  dead 
a  few  paces  from  him.  He  was  seated 
against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  while  El 
len,  kneeling  by  his  side,  was  anxiously 
following  the  progress  of  his  return  to 
life. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  the  bandit  muttered 
hoarsely,  "  I  am  still  alive  then." 

"  Yes,  thanks  to  God,  father,"  Ellen 
answered  softly.  The  bandit  looked  at 
her. 

"  God  !"  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself;  "God!"  he  added  with  an 
ironical  smile. 

"  He  it  was  who  saved  you,  father," 
the  girl  said. 

"  Child  !"  Red  Cedar  muttered,  as  he 


60 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


passed  his  left  hand  over  his  forehead  ; 
"  God  is  only  a  word,  never  utter  it 
again." 

Ellen  drooped  her  head  ;  but  with 
the  feeling  of  life  pain  returned. 

"  Oh  !   how  I  suffer,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  dangerously  wounded, 
father.  Alas  !  I  have  done  what  I  can 
to  relieve  you;  but  I  am  only  a  poor 
ignorant  girl,  and  perhaps  what  I  have 
attempted  was  not  the  right  treatment." 

Red  Cedar  turned  to  her,  and  an  ex 
pression  of  tenderness  flashed  in  his 
eyes. 

"You  love  me,  then?"  he  said. 

"  Is  it  not  my  duty  to  do  so,  father  ?" 

The  bandit  made  no  reply  ;  the  smile 
we  know  of  played  round  his  violet 
lips. 

"  Alas !  I  have  been  seeking  you  a 
long  time,  father  ;  this  night  chance  en 
abled  me  to  find  you  again." 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  good  girl,  Ellen.  I 
have  only  you  left  now.  I  know  not 
what  has  become  of  my  sons.  Oh,''  he 
said  with  a  start  of  fury,  "  that  wretch 
Ambrosio  is  the  cause  of  all  ;  had  it  not 
been  for  him,  1  should  still  be  at  the 
Paso  del  Norte,  in  the  forests  of  which 
1  had  made  myself  master." 

"  Think  no  more  of  that,  father ;  your 
condition  demands  the  greatest  calm 
ness  ;  try  and  sleep  for  some  hours — 
that  will  do  you  good." 

"  Sleep,"  the  bandit  said,  "  can  I 
sleep  ?  No,"  he  added  with  a  move 
ment  of  repulsion,  "  I  would  sooner 
keep  awake ;  when  my  eyes  are  closed, 
J  see  ....  No,  no,  I  must  not 
sleep." 

He  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  Ellen 
gazed  on  him  with  pity,  mingled  with 
terror.  The  bandit,  weakened  by  the 
loss  of  blood  and  the  fever  produced  by 
his  wounds,  felt  something  to  which  he 
had  hitherto  been  a  stranger — it  was 
fear.  Perhaps  his  conscience  evoked 
the  gnawing  remorse  of  his  crimes. 

There  was  a  lengthened  silence.  El 
len  attentively  followed  the  band.t's 
movements,  whom  the  fever  plunged 
into  a  species  of  somnolency,  and  who 
at  times  started  with  inarticulate  cries, 
and  looking  around  him  in  terror.  To 
ward  evening,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and 
seemed  to  grow  stronger  :  his  eyes  were 


less  haggard,  his  words  more  connected. 

"  Thanks,  child,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a 

good  creature  ;   where  are  we  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  father ;  this  forest 
is  immense.  I.  tell  you,  again,  it  was 
God  who  guided  me  to  you." 

"No,  you  are  mistaken,  Ellen,"  he 
replied  with  that  sarcastic  smile  pecu 
liar  to  him;  "it  was  not  God  who 
brought  you  here,  but  the  demon,  who 
feared  the  loss  of  so  good  a  friend  as  I 
am." 

"  Speak  not  so,  father,"  the  girl  said, 
sadly  ;  "the  night  is  rapidly  setting  in, 
darkness  will  soon  surround  us ;  let  me, 
on  the  contrary,  pray  to  Heaven  to 
keep  far  from  us  the  perils  that  threaten 
us  during  the  night." 

"  Child  !  does  a  night  in  the  woods 
frighten  you  so,  when  your  whole  life 
has  been  spent  in  the  desert?  Light  a 
fire  of  dry  wood  to  keep  the  wild  beasts 
at  bay,  and  place  my  pistols  near  me ; 
these  precautions  will  be  better,  believe 
me,  than  your  useless  prayers." 

"  Do  not  blaspheme,"  the  girl  said, 
hurriedly;  "you  are  wounded,  almost 
dying;  I  am  weak,,  and  incapable  of 
helping  you  effectually.  Our  life  is  in 
the  hands  of  Him  whose  power  you 
deny  in  vain.  He  alone,  if  He  will,  can 
save  us." 

The  bandit  burst  into  a  dry  and  snap 
ping  laugh. 

"  Let  Him  do  so  then,  in  the  demon's 
name,  and  1  will  believe  in  Him." 

"  Father,  in  Heaven's  name,  speak 
not  so,"  the  maiden  murmured  in  sor 
row. 

"Do  what  I  tell  you,  you  little 
fool,"  the  squatter  interrupted  her 
brutally,  "  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

Ellen  turned  to  wipe  away  the  tears 
this  harsh  language  forced  from  her, 
and  rose  sorrowfully  to  obey  Red 
Cedar,  who  looked  after  her. 

"  Come,  you  goose,"  he  said  to  her 
again,  "  1  did  not  intend  to  hurt  your 
feelings." 

The  girl  then  collected  all  the  dry 
branches  she  could  find,  which  she  made 
into  a  pile  and  kindled.  The  wood 
soon  began  cracking,  and  a  long  and 
bright  flame  rose  to  the  -sky.  She 
then  took  from  his  holsters  the  squat 
ter's  still  loaded  pistols,  placed  them 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


61 


within  reach  of  his  arm,  and  then  seat 
ed  herself  again  by  his  side. 

Red  Cedar  smiled  his  satisfaction. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  now  we  have 
nothing  more  to  i'ear  ;  if  the  wild 
beasts  pay  us  a  visit,  we  will  receive 
them  ;  we  will  pass  the  night  quietly. 
As  for  the  morrow,  well,  we  shall  see." 

Ellen,  without  replying,  wrapped  him 
up  as- well  as  she  could  in  the  blankets 
and  hides  that  were  on  the  horse,  in 
order  to  protect  him  from  the  cold. 
So  much  attention  and  self-denial  af 
fected  the  bandit. 

"  And  you,  Ellen,"  he  asked  her ; 
"  will  you  not  keep  a  few  of  these 
skins  for  yourself?" 

"Why  should  I,  father?  the  fire 
will  be  enough  for  me,"  she  said 
gently. 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  eat  something, 
you  must  be  hungry  ;  for,  if  1  am  not 
mistaken,  you  have  had  nothing  the 
whole  day." 

"  That  is  true,  father,  but  I  am  not 
hungry." 

"  No  matter,"  he  said,  pressing  her, 
"  too  long  a  fast  may  be  injurious  to 
you  ;  I  insist  on  your  eating." 

"  It  is  useless,  father,"'  she  said  with 
some  hesitation 

"  Eat,  1  say,"  he  went  on,  "  if  not 
fur  your  sake,  for  mine ;  eat  a  mouth 
ful  to  restore  your  strength,  fur  we 
know  what  awaits  us  in  the  next  few- 
hours." 

"  Alas !  I  would  readily  obey  you," 
she  said,  letting  her  eyes  sink  ;  "  but 
it  is  impossible." 

"  And  why  so,  pray  ?  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  insist." 

"  Because  I  have  nothing  to  eat." 

These  words  crushed  the  bandit  like 
the  blow  of  a  club. 

"  Oh,  it  is  frightful,"  he  muttered  ; 
"  poor  girl,  pardon  me  :  Ellen,  I  am  a 
villain,  unworthy  of  such"  devotion  as 
yours." 

"  Calm  yourself,  father,  I  implore 
you  ;  I  am  not  hungry,  a  night  is  soon 
passed,  and  to-morrow,  as  you  said,  we 
shall  see ;  but  before  then,  I  am  Con 
vinced  GOD  will  come  to  our  aid." 

"  GOD!  "  the  squatter  exclaimed, 
gnashing  his  teeth. 

"  GOD,  ever   GOD,  father,"   the   girl 


answered,  with  sparkling  eye  and 
trembling  lip;  "Goo,  ever;  for,  how 
ever  unworthy  we  may  be  of  His  pity; 
He  is  merciful,  and  perhaps  will  nofc 
abandon  us." 

"  Build  then  on  him,  fool  as  you  are, 
and  you  will  be  dead  in  two  days." 

'•  No,"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully,  "  for 
He  has  heard  me,  and  sends  us  help." 

The  bandit  looked  and  fell  back  on 
the  ground,  closing  his  eyes,  and  mut 
tering  in  a  hollow  voice  the  words  which 
for  some  time  past  had  constantly 
risen  from  his  heart  to  his  lips,  and  in 
voluntarily  mastered  him. 

"  GOD  !  can  He  exist  ?" 

A  terrible  question  which  he  inces 
santly  asked  himself,  and  to  which  his 
obstinate  conscience  was  beginning  to 
respond,  for  the  granite  coating  of  his 
heart  was  beginning  to  crumble  away 
beneath  the  repeated  blows  of  remorse. 
But  Ellen  did  not  now  notice  Red 
Cedar's  state  of  prostration,  she  had 
risen  and  rushed  forward,  with  out 
stretched  arms,  crying  as  loudly  as  her 
voice  permitted  her — "  Help,  help  !" 

The  young  girl  had  fancied  she  heard, 
for  some  minutes  past,  a  peculiar  rust 
ling  in  the  foliage.  This  noise,  at  first 
remote  and  almost  unnoticeable,  had 
rapidly  approached  ;  soon  lights  had 
glistened  through  the  trees,  and  the 
footsteps  of  a  numerous  party  had  dis 
tinctly  smitten  her  ear.  In  fact,  she 
had  scarce  gone  a  dozen  yards,  ere  she 
found  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  doa- 
en  mounted  Indians,  holding  torches, 
and  escorting  two  persons  wrapped  in 
long  cloaks. 

"  Help  !  help  !"  Ellen  repeated,  as 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  with  outstretched 
arms. 

The  horsemen  stopped  ;  one  of  them 
dismounted,  and  ran  to  the  girl,  whom 
he  took  by  the  hands,  and  forced  to 
rise. 

"  Help  for  whom,  my  poor  girl  ?"  he 
asked  her  in  a  soft  voice. 

On  hearing  the  stranger's  accent  so 
full  of  tenderness,  she  felt  hope  return 
ing  to  her  heart. 

"  Oh  !"  she  murmured  with  joy  ;  "my 
father  is  saved." 

"  Our  life  is  in  the  hands  of  GOD," 
the  stranger  said,  with  emotion  j  "  but 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


lead  me  to  your  father,  and  all  a  man 
can  do  to  help  him,  I  will." 

"  It  is  GOD  who  sends  you,  bless  you, 
my  father !"  the  maiden  said,  as  she 
kissed  his  hand. 

In  the  movement  he  had  made  to 
raise  her,  the  stranger's  cloak  flew  open, 
and  the  girl  had  recognised  a  priest. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said. 

"  Come  !" 

The  girl  ran  joyously  forward,  and 
the  little  party  followed  her. 

"  Father,  father,"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  came  near  the  wounded  man,  "  I 
was  certain  that  Heaven  would  not 
abandon  us  ;  I  bring  you  succor." 

At  this  moment  the  strangers  entered 
the  clearing  where  the  bandit  lay.  The 
Indians  and  the  other  travelers  remain 
ed  some  paces  in  the  rear,  while  the 
priest,  quickly  approached  Red  Cedar, 
over  whom  he  bent.  At  his  daughter's 
words  the  bandit  opened  his  eyes,  and 
turned  his  head  with  an  effort  in  the 
direction  whence  this  unexpected  help 
arrived.  Suddenly  his  face,  before  so 
pale,  was  covered  with  a  cadaverous 
tinge ;  his  eyes  were  enlarged  and  be 
came  haggard,  a  convulsive  quiver  agi 
tated  his  limbs,  and  he  fell  heavily 
back,  muttering  with  terror  : 

"  Oh  !  Father  Seraphin  !" 

It  was  really  the  missionary  ;  with 
out  appearing  to  remark  the  squatter's 
emotion,  he  seized  his  arm  in  order  to 
feel  his  pulse.  Bed  Cedar  had  fainted, 
but  Ellen  had  heard  the  words  he  utter 
ed,  and  though  she  could  not  under 
stand  their  meaning,  she  guessed  that  a 
terrible  drama  was  concealed  beneath 
this  revelation. 

"  My  father  !"  she  exclaimed  mourn 
fully,  as  she  fell  at  the  priest's  knees, 
"  my  father,  have  pity  on  him,  do  not 
desert  him  !" 

The  missionary  smiled  with  an  ex 
pression  of  ineffable  goodness. 

"  Daughter,"  he  answered  gently,  "  I 
am  a  minister  of  GOD,  and  the  dress  I 
wear  commands  me  to  forget  insults. 
Priests  have  no  enemies,  all  men  are 
their  brothers  ;  reassure  yourself,  your 
father  has  not  only  his  body  to  be 
saved,  but  also  his  soul.  I  will  under 
take  this  cure,  and  GOD,  who  permitted 


me  to  take  this  road,  will  give  me  the 
necessary  strength  to  succeed." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  holy  father," 
the  girl  murmured,  as  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Do  not  thank  me,  poor  girl ;  ad 
dress  your  thanks  to  God,  for  lie  alone 
has  done  all.  Now  leave  me  to  attend 
to  this  unhappy  man,  who  is  suffering, 
and  whose  miserable  state  claims  all  my 
care." 

And  gently  removing  the  maiden, 
Father  Seraphin  opened  his  medicine 
box,  which  he  took  from  the  pommel  of 
his  saddle,  and  prepared  to  dress  his 
patient's  wounds.  In  the  meanwhile 
the  Indians  had  gradually  approached, 
and  seeing  the  state  of  affairs,  they  dis 
mounted  to  prepare  the  encampment, 
for  they  foresaw  that,  with  Red  Cedar 
in  his  present  condition,  the  missionary 
would  pass  the  night  at  this  spot. 

The  person  who  accompanied  Father 
Seraphin  was  a  female  of  very  advanc 
ed  age,  but  whose  features,  ennobled  by 
years,  had  a  far  from  common  express 
ion  of  kindness  and  grandeur.  When 
she  saw  that  the  missionary  was  prepar 
ing  to  dress  the  wounds,  she  went  up  to 
him  and  said  in  a  soft  voice — 

"Can  1  not  help  you  in  any  way,  holy 
father  ?  you  know  that  I  am  anxious  to 
begin  my  apprenticeship  in  nursing." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  an  ac 
cent  of  indescribable  goodness.  The 
priest  looked  at  her  with  a  sublime  ex 
pression,  and,  taking  her  hand,  he  made 
her  stoop  over  the  wounded  man. 

"Heaven  has  decreed  that  what  now 
happens  should  take  place,"  he  said  to 
her  ;  "  you  have  hardly  landed  in  this 
country,  and  entered  the  desert  to  seek 
your  son,  when  the  Omnipotent  im 
poses  on  you  a  task  which  must  rejoica 
your  heart  by  bringing  you  face  to  face 
with  this  man." 

"What  do  you  mean,  father  ?"  she  said 
with  amazement. 

"  Mother  of  Valentine  Guillois,"  he 
continued,  with  an  accent  full  of  supreme 
majesty,  "  look  at  this  man  well,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  recognize  him  hereafter  ; 
it  is  Red  Cedar,  the  wretch  of  whom  I 
have  so  often  spoken  to  you,  the  im 
placable  foe  of  your  son." 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


63 


At  this  terrible  revelation  the  poor 
woman  gave  a  start  of  fear;  but  sur 
mounting  with  a  supei-human  effort  the 
feeling  of  revulsion  she  had  at  first  ex 
perienced,  she  answered  in  a  calm 
voice — 

"  No  matter,  father,  the  man  suffers, 
and  I  will  nurse  him." 

"  Good,  Madam,"  the  priest  said,  with 
emotion  ;  "  Heaven  will  give  you  cre 
dit  for  this  evangelic  abnegation." 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE     MISSIONARY. 

WE  will  now  briefly  explain  by  what 
strange  concourse  of  events  Father 
Seraphin,  whom  we  have  for  so  long  a 
period  lost  out  of  sight,  and  Valentine's 
mother,  had  arrived  so  providentially 
to  help  Red  Cedar. 

When  the  missionary  left  the  Trail- 
hunter,  he  proceeded,  as  he  expressed  a 
wish,  among  the  Comanches,  with  the 
intention  of  preaching  the  gospel  to 
them,  a  holy  duty  which  he  had  begun 
to  put  in  execution  long  before.  Father 
Seraphin,through  his  character  and  piety 
of  manner,  had  made  friends  of  all  these 
children  of  nature,  and  converted  nume 
rous  proselytes  in  various  tribes,  espe 
cially  in  Unicorn's. 

The  journey  was  long  and  fatiguing 
to  the  Comanche  village,  and  the  means 
of  transport  were,  in  a  desert  country, 
only  traversed  by  nomadic  hordes, 
which  wander  without  any  settled  pur 
pose  in  these  vast  solitudes.  The  mis 
sionary,  however,  did  not  recoil;  too 
weak  to  ride  on  account  of  the  scarce 
cicatrized  wound  he  had  received  a  short 
time  previously,  he  had,  like  the  first 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  bravely  under 
taken  this  journey  on  foot,  which  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  accomplish  on 
horseback. 

But  human  strength  has  its  limits, 
which  it  cannot  go  beyond.  Father 
Seraphin,  in  spite  of  his  courage,  was 
obliged  tacitly  to  allow  that  he  had  un 
dertaken  a  task  which  he  was  too  weak 
to  carry  out.  One  night  he  fell,  ex 
hausted  by  fever  and  fatigue,  on  the 


floor  of  some  Indians,  who  nursed  and 
brought  him  round.  These  Indians, 
who  were  half  civilized,  and  had  been 
Christians  for  a  long  time,  would  not 
allow  the  priest,  in  his  present  state  of 
health,  to  continue  his  journey ;  on  the 
contrary,  taking  advantage  of  the  fever 
which  kept  him  down  and  render 
ed  it  impossible  for  him  to  see  what 
was  done  with  him,  .they  conveyed  him 
back,  by  slow  stages,  to  Texas. 

When  Father  Seraphin,  thanks  to  his 
youth  and  powerful  constitution,  had  at 
length  conquered  the  malady  which 
kept  him  confined  to  his  bed  for  more 
than  a  month  between  life  and  death, 
his  surprise  was  great  to  find  himself  at 
Galveston,  in  the  house  of  the  episcopal 
head  of  the  Mission.  The  worthy  pre 
late,  employing  the  spiritual  powers 
given  him  by  his  character  and  his  title^ 
had  insisted  on  the  missionary  going  on 
board  of  a  vessel  just  starting  for  Havre, 
and  which  was  only  waiting  for  a  favor 
able  wind. 

Father  Seraphin  obeyed  with  sorrow 
the  commands  of  his  superior ;  the 
bishop  was  obliged  to  prove  to  him  that 
his  health  was  almost  ruined,  and  that 
his  native  air  could  alone  restore  it,  ere 
he  would  resign  humbly  to  obedience, 
and,  as  he  said  bitterly,  fly  and  abandon 
his  post.  The  missionary  started  then, 
but  with  the  firm  resolution  of  return 
ing  so  soon  as  it  was  possible. 

The  voyage  from  Galveston  to  Havre 
was  a  pleasant  one;  two  months  after 
leaving  Texas,  Father  Seraphin  set  foot 
on  his  native  soil,  with  an  emotion 
which  only  those  who  have  wandered 
for  a  long  time  in  foreign  parts  can  com 
prehend.  Since  accident  brought  him 
back  to  France,  the  missionary  profited 
by  it  to  visit  his  family,  whom  he  never 
expected  to  see  again,  and  by  whom  he 
was  received  with  transports  of  joy,  the 
greater  because  his  return  was  so  unex 
pected. 

The  life  of  a  missionary  is  very  hard  ; 
those  who  have  seen  them  at  work  in 
the  great  American  desert  can  alone  ap 
preciate  all  the  holy  abnegation  and 
true  courage  there  is  in  the  hearts  of 
these  simple  and  truly  good  men,  who 
sacrifice  their  life,  without  the  hope  of 
possible  reward,  in  preaching  to  the  In- 


64 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


dians.  They  nearly  all  fall  in  some  ob 
scure  corner  of  the  prairie,  victims  to 
their  devotion,  or  if  they  resist  for  five 
or  six  years,  they  return  to  their  coun 
try  prematurely  aged,  almost  blind, 
overwhelmed  with  infirmities,  and  forced 
to  live  a  miserable  life  among  men  who 
misunderstand  and  too  often  calumniate 
them. 

Father  Seraphin's  time  was  counted, 
every  hour  he  passed  away  from  his 
beloved  Indians  he  reproached  himself 
with  as  a  robbery  he  committed  on 
them.  He  tore  himself  from  his  parent's 
arms,  and  hastened  to  Havre,  to  profit 
by  the  first  chance  that  presented  itself 
for  returning  to  Texas. 

One  evening,  while  Father  Seraphin 
was  seated  on  the  beach,  contemplating 
the  sea  that  separated  him  from  the  ob 
ject  of  his  life,  and  thinking  of  the  pro 
selytes  he  had  left  in  America,  and 
whom,  deprived  of  his  presence,  he 
trembled  to  find  again  plunged  in  their 
old  errors — he  heard  sobs  near  him. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  saw  at  some 
paces  from  him  a  woman  kneeling  on 
the  sand  and  weeping;  from  time  to 
time  broken  words  escaped  from  her 
lips.  Father  Seraphin' was  affected  by 
this  sorrow ;  he  approached,  and  heard 
the  words  : 

"  My  son,  my  poor  son !  oh,  Heaven 
restore  me  my  son  !" 

This  woman's  face  was  bathed  in 
tears,  her  eyes  were  raised  to  Heaven, 
and  an  expression  of  profound  despair 
was  imprinted  on  her  countenance. 

Father  Seraphin  understood  with  the 
instinct  of  his  heart  that  there  was  a 
great  misfortune  here  that  required  un- 
solving,  and  addressed  the  stranger. 

"  Poor  woman,  what  do  you  want 
here  ?  why  do  you  weep  ?" 

"  Alas  !  father,"  she  answered.  "  I 
have  lost  all  hope  of  being  happy  in  this 
world." 

"  Who  knows,  madam  ?  tell  me  your 
misfortunes.  GOD  is  great;  perhaps 
He  will  give  me  the  power  to  console 
you." 

"  You  are  right,  father ;  GOD  never 
deserts  the  afflicted,  and  it  is  above  all 
when  hope  fails  them  that  He  comes  to 
their  assistance." 

"  Speak  then  with  confidence." 


The  strange  woman  began  in  a  voice 
broken  by  the  internal  emotion  which 
she  suffered. 

"  For  more  than  ten  years,"  she  said, 
"  I  have  been  separated  from  my  son. 
Alas !  since  he  went  to  America,  in 
spite  of  all  the  steps  I  have  taken,  I 
have  never  received  news  of  him,  or 
learned  what  has  become  of  him, 
whether  he  be  dead  or  alive." 

"  Since  the  period  of  which  you 
speak,  then,  no  sign,  no  information 
however  slight,  has  reassured  you  as  to 
the  fate  of  him  you  mourn  ?" 

"  No,  my  father,  since  my  son,  the 
brave  lad,  determined  to  accompany  his 
foster-brother  to  Chili." 

"  Well,"  the  priest  interrupted,  "  you 
might  enquire  in  Chili." 

"  I  did  so,  father." 

"  And  learned  nothing  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  my  son's  foster-brother 
is  married,  and  possesses  a  large  for 
tune  in  Chili.  I  applied  to  him.  My 
son  left  him  about  a  year  after  his  de 
parture  from  France,  without  telling' 
him  the  motive  that  urged  him  to  act 
thus,  and  he  never  heard  of  him  again, 
in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  find  him ; 
all  that  he  discovered  was  that  he  had 
buried  himself  in  the  virgin  forests  of 
the  Great  Chaco,  accompanied  by  two 
Indian  chiefs." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  strange,"  the  priest 
muttered  thoughtfully. 

"  My  son's  foster-brother  frequently 
writes  to  me;  thanks  to  him,  I  am  rich 
for  a  woman  of  my  condition,  who  is 
accustomed  to  live  on  a  little.  In  each 
of  his  letters  he  begs  me  to  come  and 
end  my  days  with  him  ;  but  it  is  my 
son,  my  poor  child,  I  wish  to  see  again  ; 
in  his  arms  I  should  like  to  close  my 
eyes.  Alas !  that  consolation  will  not 
be  granted  me.  Oh  !  father,  you  can 
not  imagine  what  grief  it  is  for  a  mother 
to  live  alone,  far  from  the  only  being 
who  gave  joy  to  her  latter  days.  Though 
I  have  not  seen  him  for  ten  years,  I 
picture  him  to  myself  as  on  the  day  he 
left  me,  young  and  strong,  and  little 
suspecting  that  he  was  leaving  me  for 
ever." 

While  uttering  these  words^  the  poor 
woman  could  not  repress  her  tears  and 
sobs. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


65 


"  Courage  !  life  is  but  one  long  ;rial ; 
you  have  suffered  so  greatly,  per 
chance  GOD,  whose  mercy  is  infinite, 
reserves  a  supreme  joy  for  your  last 
lays  of  life." 

"  Alas,  father,  as  you  know,  nothing 
jan  console  a  mother  for  the  absence  of 
ier  son,  for  he  is  her  flesh,  her  heart. 
Every  ship  that  arrives,  I  run,  I  in 
quire,  and  ever,  ever  the  same  silence  ! 
nd  yet,  shall  I  confess  it  to  you  ?  I 
lave  something  in  me  which  tells  me 
is  not  dead,  and  I  shall  see  him 
again  ;  it  is  a  secret  presentiment  for 
which  I  cannot  account :  I  fancy  that  if 
ny  son  were  dead,  something  would 
lave  snapped  in  my  heart,  and  I  should 
lave  ceased  to  exist  long  ago.  That 
iope  sustains  me,  in  spite  of  myself;  it 
ives  me  the  strength  to  live." 

"  You  are  a  mother  in  accordance 
with  the  gospel ;  I  admire  3"ou." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  father ;  I  am 
only  a  poor  creature,  very  simple  and 
very  unhappy  ;  1  have  only  one  feeling 
n  my  heart,  but  it  fills  me  entirely  : 
ove  of  my  son.  Oh,  could  I  see  him, 
vere  it  only  for  a  moment,  I  fancy  I 
hould  die  happy.  At  long  intervals,  a 
banker  writes  me  to  come  to  him,  and 
he  pays  me  money,  sometimes  small 
sums,  at  others  large.  When  I  ask 
him  whence  the  money  comes,  he  says 
that  he  does  not  know  himself,  and  that 
a  strange  correspondent  has  requested 
him  to  pay  it  to  me.  Well,  father, 
every  time  I  receive  money  in  this  way, 
I  fancy  that  it  comes  from  my  son,  that 
he  is  thinking  of  me,  and  I  am  happy." 
"  Do  not  doubt  that  it  is  your  son 
who  sends  you  this  money." 

"  Is  it  not  ]"  she  said,  with  a  start  of 
joy.  "  Well,  I  feel  so  persuaded  of 
that,  that  I  keep  it ;  all  the  sums  are  at 
my  house,  intact,  in  the  order  as  I  re 
ceived  them.  Often,  when  grief 
crushes  me  more  than  usual,  when  the 
weight  that  oppresses  my  heart  seems 
to  me  too  crushing,  I  look  at  them,  I  let 
them  slip  through  my  fingers,  as  I  talk 
to  them,  and  I  fancy  my  son  answers 
me  ;  he  bids  me  hope  I  shall  see  him 
again,  and  I  feel  hope  return.  Oh !  you 
must  think  me  very  foolish  to  tell  YOU 
all  this,  father  :  but  of  what  can  a  mo 


ther  speak,  save  of  her  son "?  of  what 
can  she  think  but  her  son?" 

Father  Seraphin  gazed  on  her  with  a 
tenderness  mingled  with  respect.  Such 
grandeur  and  simplicity  in  a  woman  of 
so  ordinary  a  rank  overcame  him,  and 
he  felt  tears  running  down  his  cheeks 
which  he  did  not  attempt  to  check. 

"  Oh,  holy  and  noble  creature  !"  he 
said  to  her  ;  "  hope,  hope  ;  GOD  watch 
es  over  you." 

"  You  believe  so  too,  father  ?  oh, 
thanks  for  that. 

"You  have  told  me  nothing,  and  yet  I 
feel  comforted  through  having  seen  you 
and  let  my  heart  overflow  in  your  pre 
sence.  It  is  because  you  are  good,  you 
have  understood  my  sorrow,  for  you, 
too,  have  doubtless  suffered." 

"  Alas^  madam,  each  of  us  has  a  cross 
to  bear  in  this  world ;  happy  is  he 
whom  his  burden  does  not  crush." 

"  Pardon  my  having  troubled  you 
with  my  sorrows,"  she  said,  as  she  pre 
pared  to  leave  ;  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  words." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  pardon  you  ;  but 
permit  me  to  ask  you  one  more  ques 
tion." 

"  Do  so,  father." 

"  I  am  a  missionary.  For  several 
years  I  have  been  in  America,  whose 
immense  solitudes  I  have  traversed  in 
every  direction.  I  have  seen  many 
things,  met  many  persons  during  my 
travels.  Who  knows?  perhaps,  with 
out  knowing  it,  I  may  have  met  your 
son,  and  may  give  the  information  you 
have  been  awaiting  so  long  in  vain." 

The  poor  mother  gave  him  a  glance 
of  indefinable  meaning,  and  placed  her 
hand  on  her  heart  to  still  its  hurried 
beating. 

"  Madam,  GOD  directs  all  our  ac 
tions.  He  decreed  our  meeting  on 
this  beach  ;  the  hope  you  have  lost  I 
may  perhaps  be  destined  to  restore 
you.  What  is  your  son's  name  ?'' 

At  this  moment  Father  Seraphin  had 
a  truly  inspired  air;  his  voice  was  com 
manding,  and  his  eyes  shone  with  a 
bright  and  fascinating  fire. 

"  Valentine  Guillois  !"  the  poor 
woman  said,  as  she  fell  in  almost  a 
fainting  state  on  a  log  of  wood  left  on 
the  beach. 


66 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


"Oh!"  the  priest  exclaimed;  "on 
your  knees  and  thank  Heaven  !  console 
yourself,  poor  mother !  your  son 
lives  !" 

She  drew  herself  up  as  if  moved  by 
a  spring,  and  fell  on  her  knees  sobbing, 
and  held  out  her  hands  to  the  man  who 
restored  htjr  son  to  her. 

.  But  it  was  too  much  for  her :  so 
strong  against  grief,  could  not  resist 
joy  :  she  fainted.  Father  Seraphin  ran 
up  to  her  and  recalled  her  to  life.  We 
will  not  describe  the  ensuing  scene,  but 
a  week  later  the  missionary  and  the 
hunter's  mother  started  for  America. 
During  the  voyage  Father  Seraphin 
fully  described  to  his  companion  what 
had  happened  to  her  son  during  his 
long  absence,  the  reasons  of  his  silence, 
and  the  sacred  remembrance  in  which 
he  had  ever  held  her.  The  poor  mo 
ther  listened,  radiant  with  happiness,  to 
these  stories,  which  she  begged  to  hear 
over  and  over  again,  for  she  was  never 
tired  of  hearing  her  son  spoken  of. 

On  reaching  Galveston,  the  mis 
sionary,  justly  fearing  for  her  the  fat 
igues  of  a  journey  through  the  desert, 
wished  to  induce  her  to  remain  in  that 
city  till  her  son  came  to  her,  but  at  that 
proposition  the  mother  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said,  resolutely,  "  I  have 
not  come  here  to  stop  in  a  town  :  I 
wish  to  spend  the  few  days  left  me  to 
live  by  his  side  ;  I  have  suffered  enough 
to  be  avaricious  of  my  happiness,  and 
desire  not  to  lose  an  atom.  Let  us  go, 
father.  Lead  me  to  my  child." 

Before  a  will  so  firmly  expressed,  the 
priest  found  himself  powerless  ;  he  did 
not  recognise  the  right  of  insisting  lon 
ger  ;  he  merely  tried  to  spare  his  com 
panion  the  fatigue  of  his  journey  as  far 
as  possible. 

They,  therefore,  started  for  Galves 
ton,  proceeding  by  short  stages  to  the 
Far  West.  On  reaching  the  border  of 
civilized  countries,  Father  Seraphin  took 
an  escort  of  devoted  Indians  to  protect 
his  companion.  They  had  been  in  the 
desert  for  six  days,  when  suddenly 
heaven  brought  them  face  to  face  with 
Red  Cedar,  dying  without  help  in  the 
heart  of  the  primeval  forest. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


RETURN   TO    LIFE. 

CHARITY  is  a  virtue  loudly  preached 
in  our  age,  but  unfortunately  practised 
by  few.  The  story  of  the  good  Sama 
ritan  finds  but  scanty  application  in  the 
Old  World,  and  if  we  would  discover 
charity 'exercised  sacredly  and  simply, 
as  the  gospel  teaches,  we  must  obtain 
our  examples  from  the  deserts  of  the 
New  World. 

This  is  sad  to  say,  even  more  sad  to 
prove,  but  mankind  is  not  to  blame  for 
it ;  the  age  alone  must  be  held  respon 
sible  for  this  egotism,  which  has  for 
some  years  past  been  planted  in  the 
heart  of  man,  and  reigns  there  su 
preme.  To  two  causes  must  be  at 
tributed  the  personalism  and  egotism 
which  crown  the  actions  of  the  great 
human  family  in  Europe;  the  discovery 
of  gold  in  California,  Australia,  and  on 
Fz-azer  River,  and,  above  all,  the  Stock 
Exchange. 

The  Exchange  is  the  scourge  of  the 
Old  World ;  so  soon  as  everybody 
fancied  that  he  was  enabled  to  enrich 
himself  between  to-day  and  to-morrow, 
no  one  thought  any  longer  of  his 
neighbor,  who  remained  poor,  save  as 
being  incapable  of  ameliorating  his  po 
sition.  The  result  is,  that  the  men 
who  have  the  courage  to  leave  the  in-  > 
toxicating  maelstrom  that  surrounds 
them,  to  despise  those  riches  which 
flash  around  them,  and  go  under  the 
impulse  of  Christian  Charity,  the  holiest 
and  least  rewarded  of  all  the.  virtues,  to 
bury  themselves  among  savages,  amid 
hordes  most  hostile  to  every  good  and 
honorable  feeling,  in  the  most  deadly 
countries — such  men,  we  say,  who,  im 
pelled  solely  by  a  divine  feeling,  aban 
don  all  earthly  enjoyments,  are  chosen 
vessels,  and  in  every  respect  deserve 
well  of  humanity. 

Their  number  is  much  larger  than 
might  be  supposed  at  the  first  blush, 
and  that  is  very  logical  ;  the  passion 
for  devotion  must  go  side  by  side  with 
the  thirst  for  gold,  in  order  that  the 
eternal  balance  of  good  and'  evil  which 
governs  the  world  should  remain  in 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


67 


those  equal  proportions  which   are  con 
ditions  of  its  vitality  and  prosperity. 

Red  Cedar's  condition  was  serious 
the  moral  commotion  he  underwent  ii 
recognizing  the  man  whom  he  hac 
once  attempted  to  assassinate,  hac 
brought  on  a  frightful  attack  of  deli 
rium.  The  wretch,  a  prey  to  the  most 
gnawing  remorse,  was  tortured  by  the 
hideous  phantoms  of  his  victim,  evokec 
by  his  diseased  imagination,  and  which 
stalked  round  his  bed  like  a  legion  of 
demons.  The  night  he  passed  was  ter 
rible. 

Father  Seraphin,  Ell^n,  and  Valen 
tine's  mother  did  not  leave  him  for  a 
second,  watching  over  him  anxiously, 
and  frequently  compelled  to  struggle 
with  him  in  order  to  prevent  him  dash 
ing  his  head  against  the  trees,  in  the 
paroxysms  of  the  crisis  that  tortured 
him. 

Strange  coincidence  !  the  bandit  had 
a  similar  wound  in  his  shoulder  to  the 
one  he  had  formerly  dealt  the  mission 
ary,  which  had  compelled  the  latter  to 
go  and  seek  a  cure  in  Europe,  a  voyage 
from  which  lie  had  only  returned  a  few 
days,  when  Providence  permitted  him 
to  find  the  man  who  wished  to  assas 
sinate  him,  lying  almost  dead  at  tiie 
foot  of  a  tree. 

Towards  day  the  crisis  grew  calmer, 
and  the  squatter  fell  into  a  species  of 
slumber,  which  deprived  him  of  the  fa 
culties  of  feeling  and  perception.  No 
one  else  slept  during  this  long  and 
mournful  night,  spent  in  the  heart  of 
the  forest;  and  when  Father  Seraphin 
saw  that  Red  Cedar  was  calmer,  he  or 
dered  the  Indians  to  prepare  a  litter  to 
receive  him.  They  were  much  disin 
clined  to  the  task  ;  they  had  known  the 
squatter  for  a  lengthened  period,  and 
these  primitive  men  could  not  under 
stand  why,  instead  of  killing  him  when 
chance  threw  him  into  his  power,  the 
missionary  lavished  his  assistance  on 
such  a  villain,  who  had  committed  so 
many  crimes,  and  whose  death  would 
have  been  a  blessing  to  the  prairie.  It 
required  all  the  devotion  they  had  vow 
ed  to  Father  Seraphin  for  them  to  con 
sent  to  do,  very  unwillingly  we  allow, 
what  he  ordered  them. 


When  the  litter  was  ready,  dry 
leaves  and  grass  were  spread  over  it, 
and  the  squatter  was  laid  on  this  couch 
in  an  almost  complete  state  of  insensi 
bility.  Before  leaving  the  forest  the 
missionary,  who  knew  how  necessary  it 
was  to  re-kindle  the  drooping  faith  of 
the  redskins,  for  the  sake  of  the  pa 
tient,  resolved  to  offer  the  holy  sacri 
fice  of  mass.  An  altar  was  improvised 
on  a  grassy  mound,  covered  with  a  rag 
of  white  cloth,  and  the  mass  was  read, 
served  by  one  of  the  Indians,  who  offer 
ed  his  services  spontaneously. 

Assuredly,  in  the  large  European  ca 
thedrals,  beneath  the  splendid  arches 
of  stone,  blackened  by  time,  to  the  im 
posing  murmur  of  the  organ  re-echoing 
through  the  aisles,  the  ceremonies  of 
the  faith  are  performed  with  greater 
pomp ;  but  I  doubt  whether  they  be  so 
with  more  magnificent  simplicity,  or 
are  listened  to  with  greater  fervor  than 
this  mass,  said  in  the  heart  of  a  forest, 
accompanied  by  the  striking  melodies  of 
the  desert,  by  the  pale-browed  priest, 
whose  eyes  glistened  with  a  holy  en 
thusiasm,  and  who  prayed  for  his  as 
sassin  groaning  at  his  feet. 

When  mass  was  over,  Father  Sera- 
)hin  gave  a  signal,  four  Indians  raised 
he  litter  on  their  shoulders,  and  the 
>arty  set  out,  Ellen  being  mounted  on 
-he  horse  of  one  of  the  bearers.  The 
ourney  was  long ;  the  missionary  had 
eft  Galveston  to  go  in  search  of  Val- 
iiitine,  but  a  hunter  accustomed  to  tra 
verse  great  distances,  and  whose  life  is 
nade  up  of  incessant  excursions,  is 
rery  difficult  to  discover  in  the  desert; 
he  missionary,  therefore,  decided  on 
roing  to  the  winter  village  of  the  Co- 
nanches,  where  he  was  certain  to  ob- 
ain  precise  information  about  the  man 
ic  wished  to  see. 

But  his  meeting  with  Red  Cedar  pre 
sented  him  from  carrying  out  this  plan; 
Jnicorn  and  Valentine  were  too  invet- 
rate  against  the  squatter  for  the  mis- 
ionary  to  hope  that  they  would  con- 
ent  to  resign  their  vengeance.  The 
ionjuncture  was  difficult;  Red  Cedar 
vas  a  prescript  in  the  fullest  sense  of 
he  term  ;  one  of  those  outlaws,  whose 
lumber  is  fortunately  very  limited, 


THE  TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


who  have  the  whole  human  race  for 
their  foe,  and  to  whom  every  country 
is  hostile. 

And  yet  this  man  must  be  saved  ; 
and  after  ripe  reflection,  Father  Seraph- 
in's  resolution  was  formed.  He  pro 
ceeded,  followed  by  his  whole  party, 
to  the  grotto  where  we  have  met  him 
before,  a  grotto  which  often  served  as 
the  Trail-hunter's  abode,  but  where,  in 
all  probability,  he  would  not  be  at  this 
moment.  Through  an  extraordinary 
chance,  the  missionary  passed  unseen 
within  a  pistol  shot  of  the  spot  where 
Valentine  and  his  friends  were  en 
camped. 

At  sunset  they  prepared  for  passing 
the  night;  Father  Seraphin  removed 
the  bandage  he  had  placed  on  lied  Ce 
dar's  wounds,  and  dressed  them  :  the 
latter  allowed  it  to  be  done,  not  seem 
ing  to  notice  that  any  attention  was  be 
ing  paid  him  ;  his  prostration  was  ex 
treme.  The  wounds  were  all  healthy  ; 
that  on  the  shoulder  was  the  worst, 
but  all  foreboded  a  speedy  recovery. 

When  supper  was  over,  prayers  said, 
and  the  Indians,  wrapped  in  their  blank 
ets,  were  lying  on  the  grass  to  rest 
from  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  the  mis 
sionary,  after  assuring  himself'  that  Red 
Cedar  was  quietly  sleeping,  made  a 
sign  to  the  two  women  to  come  and  sit 
by  his  side,  near  the  fire  lit  to  keep 
off  wild  beasts.  Father  Seraphin  was 
slightly  acquainted  with  Ellen  ;  he  re 
membered  to  have  frequently  met  the 
girl,  and  even  conversed  with  her  in 
the  forest,  at  the  period  when  her  fa 
ther  had  so  audaciously  installed  him 
self  on  Don  Miguel  Za rate's  estates. 

Ellen's  character  had  pleased  him  ; 
he  had  found  in  her  such  simplicity  of 
heart  and  innate  honor,  that  he  fre 
quently  asked  himself  how  so  charm 
ing  a  creature  could  be  the  daughter  of 
so  hardened  a  villain  as  Red  Cedar: 
this  seemed  to  him  the  more  incompre 
hensible,  because  the  girl  must  have 
needed  a  powerful  character  to  resist 
the  influence  of  the  evil  examples  she 
constantly  had  before  her.  Hence  he 
had  taken  a  lively  interest  in  her,  and 
urged  her  to  persevere  in  her  good 
sentiments.  He  had  let  her  see  that 
one  day  God  would  reward  her  by  re 


moving  her  from  cne  perverse  medium 
in  which  fate  had  cast  her,  to  restore 
her  to  that  great  human  family  of 
which  she  was  ignorant. 

When  the  two  women  were  seated  at 
his  side,  the  missionary  gave  them,  in 
his  gentle  sympathising  way,  a  paternal 
admonition  to  support  with  patience 
and  resignation  the  tribulations  Heaven 
sent  on  them  ;  then  he  begged  Ellen  to 
tell  him  in  detail  all  that  had  occurred 
in  the  prairie  since  his  departure  for 
France.  The  girl's  narrative  was  long 
and  sad,  and  frequently  interrupted  by 
tears  which  she  could  not  repress.  Val 
entine's  mother  shuddered  on  hearing 
things  so  extraordinary  to  her  de 
scribed  ;  heavy  tears  ran  down  her 
wrinkled  cheek,  and  she  crossed  herself, 
muttering  compassionately : 

"  Poor  child  !  what  a  horrible  life." 

For,  in  truth  Ellen  was  describing 
her  life ;  she  had  witnessed  and  suffer 
ed  from  all  these  terrors,  all  these  atro 
cities,  whose  sinister  and  bloody  images 
she  unrolled  before  her  hearers.  When 
the  story  was  ended  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  wept  silently,  crushed 
by  the  revival  of  such  poignant  sor 
rows  and  the  re-opening  of  still  bleed 
ing  wounds.  The  missionary  gave  her 
a  long  look,  stamped  with  gentle  pity. 
He  took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  bend 
ing  over  her,  said  with  an  accent  of 
kindness  which  went  straight  to  her 
heart : 

"  Weep,  poor  girl,  for  you  have  suf 
fered  terribly;  weep,  but  be  strong; 
God,  who  tries  you,  doubtless  reserves 
for  you  other  blows  more  terrible  than 
those  which  have  fallen  on  you  ;  do 
not  try  to  repulse  the  cup  which  is 
brought  to  your  lips ;  the  more  you 
suffer  in  this  life,  the  more  happy  and 
glorified  you  will  be  in  another.  If 
God  chasteneth  you,  a  poor  stainless 
lamb,  it  is  because  He  loves  you ; 
happy  those  whom  He  thus  chastises  ! 
Derive  your  strength  from  prayer,  for 
that  elevates  the  soul,  and  renders  it 
better;  do  not  yield  to  despair,  for  that 
is  a  suggestion  of  the  demon  who  ren 
ders  man  rebellious  to  the  teaching  of 
Providence.  Think  of  your  divine 
Master,  remember  all  He  suffered  for 
usj  thus  you  will  recognise  how  little 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


69 


Smr  sorrows  are  when  compared  with 
is,  and  you  will  hope;  for  Providence 
is  not  blind ;  when  it  weighs  heavily 
on  a  creature,  it  is  preparing  to  reward 
her  a  hundredfold  for  past  sufferings." 

"  Alas,  father,"  Ellen  replied,  sorrow 
fully,  "I  am  only  a  miserable  child, 
without  strength  or  courage  ;  the  bur 
den  laid  on  me  is  very  heavy;  still,  if 
it  be  the  will  of  the  Lord  that  it  should 
be  so,  may  His  holy  name  be  blessed  ! 
I  will  try  to  stifle  the  feelings  of  revolt 
which  are  at  times  a  wound  in  my  heart, 
and  struggle  withoutcomplaining  against 
the  fate  that  overwhelms  me." 

"Good,  my  sister,  good,"  the  priest 
said  ;  "  the  great  God,  who  searches  all 
hearts,  will  have  pity  on  you." 

He  then  made  her  rise,  and  led  her  a 
short  distance  to  a  spot  where  a  bed  of 
dry  leaves  had  been  prepared  by  his 
care. 

"  Try  and  sleep,  my  child,''  he  said  ; 
"  fatigue  is  crushing  you  ;  a  few  hours' 
rest  is  indispensable  for  you." 

"  I  will   strive  to  obey  you,  father." 

"  May  the  angels  watch  over  your 
slumbers,  my  child,"  the  priest  replied  ; 
"  and  may  the  Almighty  bless  you,  as  I 
do." 

Then  he  returned  slowly  and  thought 
fully  to  Valentine's  mother.  There  was 
a  long  silence,  during  which  the  mission 
ary  reflected  deeply  ;  at  length  he  said — 

"  Madam,  you  have  heard  this  poor 
girl's  narrative  ;  her  father  was  wound 
ed  when  fighting  with  your  son.  Valen 
tine,  I  feel  assured,  is  not  far  from  us  ; 
still,  the  man  we  have  saved  claims  all 
our  care,  and  we  must  watch  that  he 
does  not  fall  into  the  hands  of  his  ene- 
mes,  I  therefore  ask  you  to  delay 
awhile  in  rejoining  your  son,  for  Red 
Cedar  must  be  placed  in  safety.  Above 
all,  1  implore  you  to  maintain  the  deep 
est  silence  as  to  the  events  of  which 
you  have  been  and  will  be  a  witness. 
Forgive  me,  but  I  implore  you  to  delay 
the  time  of  your  meeting." 

"  Father,"  she  said,  spontaneously, 
"  for  ten  years,  without  despairing  for 
a  day  or  a  moment,  I  have  been  patient 
ly  awaiting  the  hour  which  will  rejoin 
me  to  my  beloved  son.  Now  that  I  am 
certain  of  seeing  him  again,  that  no 
doubt  as  to  his  existence  dwells  in  my 


heart,  I  can  wait  a  few  days  longer.  I 
should  be  ungrateful  to  God  and  to  you, 
who  have  done  so  much  for  me,  if  I  in 
sisted  on  the  contrary  course.  Act  as 
your  charity  and  your  devotion  impel 
you  to  do  ;  fulfil  your  duty  without 
troubling  yourself  about  me  ;  God  has 
willed  it  that  we  should  come  across 
this  man.  The  ways  of  Providence  are 
often  incomprehensible  ;  obey  it  by  sav 
ing  him,  however  unworthy  he  may  be  of 
pardon." 

"  I  expected  your  answer  :  still,  I  am 
pleased  to  see  that  you  confirm  me  in 
what  I  intend  to  do." 

The  next  morning,  at  daybreak,  they 
started  again,  after  saying  prayers  to- 
gether,according  to  the  custom  establish 
ed  by  the  missionary.  Red  Cedar  was 
still  in  the  same  state  of  prostration, 
and  the  two  following  days  passed  with 
out  any  incident  worthy  of  recording. 
At  the  evening  of  the  third  day  they 
entered  the  defile,  in  the  centre  of  which, 
on  one  of  the  mountain  sides  facing  it, 
the  cavern  was.  Red  Cedar  was  carri 
ed  up  to  it  cautiously,  and  placed  in 
one  of  the  distant  compartments,  far 
from  all  external  sounds,  and  so  as  to 
be  concealed  from  the  sight  of  any 
strangers  whom  accident  miglit  lead  to 
the  cavern  while  he  was  in  it. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  indescribable 
joy  that  Valentine's  mother  entered  the 
grotto  which  served  as  an  abode  to  that 
son  whom  she  had  been  so  long  afraid 
she  should  never  see  again,  and  her 
emotion  was  extreme  on  finding  a  few 
valueless  articles  used  by  Valentine. 
The  worthy  woman,  "so  truly  a  mother, 
shut  herself  up  alone  in  the  compart 
ment  which  the  hunter  had  made  his 
sleeping-room,  and  there,  face  to  face 
with  her  reminiscences,  she  remained 
for  several  hours  absorbed  in  herself. 

The  missionary  pointed  to  each  the 
room  they  would  occupy;  he  left  his 
comrades  to  their  repose,  and  sat  down 
by  the  side  of  the  wounded  man,  where 
Ellen  already  was  installed  as  nurse. 

"  Why  do  you  not  sleep,  my  child  ?" 
he  asked  her. 

Ellen  pointed  to  the  sufferer  with  a 
gesture  full  of  nobility. 

"  Let  me  watch  over  him,"  she  said ; 
"  he  is  my  father." 


70 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


The  missionary  smiled  softly  and 
withdrew.  At  daybreak  he  returned. 
Red  Cedar,  on  hearing  him  come,  gave 
vent  to  a  sigh,  and  rose  with  difficulty 
on  his  bed. 

"  How  are  you,  brother  ?"  the  mis 
sionary  asked,  in  his  gentle  voice. 

A  febrile  flush  covered  the  bandit's 
face,  a  cold  perspiration  beaded  on  his 
temples,  his  eyes  flashed,  and  he  said  in 
a  low  voice,  broken  by  the  extreme 
emotion  that  oppressed  him  : 

"  Father,  I  am  a  wretch  unworthy  of 
your  pity." 

"  My  son,"  the  priest  answered  gent 
ly,  "you  are  a  poor  straying  creature, 
on  whom  I  doubt  not  God  will  have 
pity,  if  your  repentance  be  sincere." 

lied  Cedar  let  his  eyes  sink ;  a  con 
vulsive  movement  agitated  his  limbs. 

"  Father,"  he  muttered,  "  would  you 
teach  me  how  to  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross  ?" 

At  this  strange  request  in  the  mouth 
of  such  a  man,  Father  Seraphin  clasped 
his  hands  fervently,  and  raised  his  eyes 
to  Heaven  with  an  expression  of  sub 
lime  gratitude.  Was  ttie  evil  angel  de 
feated  ?  or  was  it  a  farce  played  by  this 
perverse  man  to  deceive  his  saviour, 
and  by  these  means  escape  the  nume 
rous  enemies  that  sought  his  death] 

Alas  !  man  is  so  extraordinary  a  com 
posite  of  good  and  evil,  that  perhaps  at 
this  moment,  and  in  spite  of  himself, 
Red  Cedar  was  acting  in  good  faith. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  THE  READER. 

AFTER  the  fight,  when  Black  Cat's 
Apaches  had  retired  on  one  side,  and 
"Unicorn's  Comanches  on  the  other,  each 
detachment  proceeding  in  the  direction 
of  the  village,  and  the  hunters  were 
alone  on  the  prairie,  Valentine  perceived 
White  Gazelle  leaning  pensively  against 
a  tree,  and  absently  holding  the  bridle 
of  her  horse,  which  was  nibbling  the 
grass.  The  hunter  understood  that  he 
and  his  comrades  owed  a  reparation  to 
this  girl,  whose  incomprehensible  devo 
tion  had  been  so  useful  to  them  during 


the  moving  incidents  of  the  tragedy 
which  had  just  ended.  He  therefore 
went  up  to  her,  and  bowing  courteous 
ly,  said  in  a  gentle  voice  : 

"Why  remain  thus  aloof?  your  place 
is  by  our  side ;  hobble  your  horse  with 
ours,  and  come  to  our  fireside." 

White  Gazelle  blushed  with  pleas 
ure  at  Valentine's  words,  but  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  she  shook  her 
head,  and  gave  him  a  sorrowful  look,  as 
she  said  : 

"  Thanks,  caballero,  for  the  offer  you 
deign  to  make  me,  but  1  cannot  accept 
it ;  if  you  and  your  friends  are  gen 
erous  enough  to  forget  all  that  there 
was  reprehensible  in  my  conduct  to 
wards  you,  my  memory  is  less  com 
plaisant  ;  1  must,  I  will  requite  by 
other  services  more  effectual  than  those 
1  have  rendered  you  to-day,  the  faults 
I  have  committed." 

"Madam,"  the  hunter  replied,  "the 
feelings  you  express  do  you  only  more 
harm  in  our  eyes  ;  hence  do  not  refuse 
our  invitation.  As  you  know,  we  have 
no  right  to  be  very  strict  on  the  prai 
rie  ;  it  is  rare  to  meet  persons  who  re 
pair  so  nobly  as  you  have  done  any 
error  they  may  commit." 

"  Do  not  press  me,  caballero,  for  my 
resolve  is  unchangeable,"  she  said  with 
an  effort,  as  she  looked  in  the  direction 
of  Don  Pablo.  "  1  must  depart,  leave 
you  at  once,  so  permit  me  to  do  so." 

Valentine  bowed. 

"Your  wish  is  to  me  an  order,"  he 
said  ;  "  you  are  free  ;  I  only  desired  to 
express  my  gratitude  to  you." 

"  Alas  !  we  have  done  nothing  as  yet, 
since  our  most  cruel  enemy,  Red  Cedar, 
has  escaped." 

"What?"  the  hunter  asked  in  as 
tonishment;  "is  Red  Cedar  your 
enemy  ?" 

"A  mortal  one,"  she  said,  with  an 
expression  of  terrible  hatred.  "  Oh  ! 
I  can  understand  thajb  you,  who  have 
hitherto  seen  me  aid  him  in  his  designs, 
cannot  conceive  such  a  change.  Lis 
ten  :  at  the  period  when  I  tried  to 
serve  that  villain,  I  only  believed  him 
to  be  one  of  the  bandits  so  common 
in  the  Far  West." 

"  While  now  T 

"  Now,"  she  went  on,  "  I  know  some- 


L  CAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


71 


thing  I  was   ignorant  of  then,  and  have 
a  terrible  account  to  settle   with  him." 

"  Far  from  rne  be  any  wish  to  pry 
into  your  secrets;  still,  permit  me  to 
make  one  observation." 

"  Pray  do  so." 

"  Red  Cedar  is  no  common  enemy — 
one  of  those  men  who  can  be  easily 
overcome.  You  know  that  as  well  as 
I  do,  I  think?" 

"  Yes,  what  then  ?" 

"  Would  you  hope  to  succeed  in 
what  men  like  myself  and  my  friends, 
and  aided  by  numerous  warriors,  could 
not  achieve  ?" 

White  Gazelle  smiled. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  she  said  ;  "  I  too 
have  allies,  and  1  will  tell  you  who 
they  are,  if  you  wish  to  know,  cabal- 
lero." 

"  Pray  tell  me,  for  really  your  calm 
ness  and  confidence  startle  me." 

"Thanks,  caballero,  for  the  interest 
you  feel  for  me;  the  n'rst  ally  on  whom 
I  build  is  yourself." 

"That  is  true,"  the  hunter  said  with 
a  bow  ;  "  if  my  feelings  toward  you 
did  not  promote  the  alliance,  rny  duty 
and  self-interest  would  command  it. 
And  can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the 
otter?" 

"  Certainly,  the  more  so  as  you 
know  him  :  the  other  is  Bloodson." 

Valentine  gave  a  start  of  surprise, 
which  he  immediately  checked. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said  politely ; 
"  but  you  really  have  the  privilege  of 
surprising  me  inordinately." 

"  How  so,  caballero  ?" 

"  Because  I  fancied  that  Bloodson 
was  one  of  your  most  bitter  enemies." 

"  He  was  so,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"And  now?" 

"  Now,  he  is  my  dearest  friend." 

"  This  goes  beyond  me.  And  when 
was  this  extraordinary  change  effected  ?!' 

"  Since  the  day,"  the  girl  cleverly  re 
plied,  "  when  Red  Cedar,  instead  of  be 
ing  my  friend,  suddenly  became  my 
enemy." 

Valentine  let  his  arms  fall,  like  a  man 
who  gives  up  in  despair  attempting  to 
solve  a  riddle. 

I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  soon  do  so,"  she  answered. 


She  bounded  into  her  saddle,  and 
leaning  over  to  Valentine  said: 

"  Good  bye,  caballero  ;  I  am  going  to 
join  Bloodson ;  we  shall  meet  again 
soon." 

She  dug  her  spurs  into  her  horse's 
flanks,  waved  her  hand  once  again,  and 
soon  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Valentine  thoughtfully  rejoined  his 
friends. 

"  Well  ?"  Don  Miguel  said. 

"  Well !"  he  replied,  "  that  woman  is 
the  most  extraordinary  creature  1  ever 
met." 

On  getting  out  of  sight  of  the  hunters, 
White  Gazelle  checked  her  horse,  and 
let  it  assume  a  pace  better  suited  for 
those  precautions  every  traveller  must 
take  on  the  prairie.  The  girl  was  hap 
py  at  this  moment ;  she  had  succeeded 
not  only  in  saving  the  man  she  loved 
from  a  terrible  danger,  but  had  also  re 
stored  hAr  character  in  Valentine's  sight. 
Red  Cedar,  it  was  true,  had  escaped  ; 
but  this  time  the  lesson  had  been  rude, 
and  the  bandit,  everywhere  tracked  like 
a  wild  beast,  must  speedily  fall  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  had  an  interest  in 
killing  him. 

She  rode  along  carelessly,  admiring 
the  calmness  of  the  prairie  and  the  play 
of  the  sunshine  on  the  foliage.  Never 
had  the  desert  appeared  to  her  so  glori 
ous — never  had  greater  tranquillity 
reigned  in  her  mind.  The  sun,  now  de 
clining,  exaggerated  the  shadow  thrown 
by  the  tall  trees;  the  birds,  hidden  be 
neath  the  dense  verdure,  were  singing 
their  evening  hymn  to  the  Almighty, 
when  she  fancied  she  saw  a  man  half  re 
clining  on  the  slope  of  one  of  those 
numberless  ditches  dug  by  the  heavy 
winter  rain. 

This  man,  by  whose  side  a  horse  was 
standing,  was  apparently  absorbed    in 
an  occupation  which  the  girl  could  not 
understand,  but  which   puzzled   her  ex 
tremely.     Although  she  rode  up  quick 
ly,  the  individual  did   not  put   himself 
out  of  the   way,  but  calmly  continued 
his  incomprehensible  task. 

At  length  she  was  opposite  him,  and 
could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  astonishment 
as  she  stopped  to  look  at  him.  The 
man  was  playing  alone  at  inonte  (the 


72 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


Mexican  lansquenet)  with  a  pack  of 
greasy  cards.  This  appeared  to  her  so 
extraordinary  that  she  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh,  and  at  the  sound  the  man  raised 

O      * 

his  head. 

"Aha !"  he  said,  not  appearing  at  all 
surprised,  "  I  felt  certain  some  one 
would  arrive;  that  is  infallible  in  this 
blessed  land." 

"  Nonsense,"  the  girl  said,  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  Canarios  !  I  am  sure  of  it,"  the  other 
answered;  "and  you  are  a  proof  of  it, 
since  here,  you  are." 

"  Explain  yourself,  my  master,  I  beg, 
for  I  confess  that  I  do  not  understand 
you  the  least  in  the  world." 

"  I  thought  so,"  the  stranger  said, 
with  a  toss  of  his  head.  "  But  for  all 
that,  I  stick  to  my  assertion." 

"  Very  well  ;  but  be  good  enough  to 
explain  yourself  more  clearly." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,  Senor  Caballero. 
I  come  from  Jalapa,  a  town  you  must 
know." 

"  Yes,  through  the  medicinal  produc 
tions  that  owe  their  name  to  it." 

"  Very  good,"  the  other  said,  with  a 
laugh ;  "  but  that  does  not  prevent 
Jalapa  being  a  very  nice  town." 

"  On  the  contrary  ;  but  go  on." 

"I  will.  You  will  be  aware  then 
that  we  ha*ve  a  proverb  at  Jahipa." 

"  May  be  so  ;  in  fact,  there  is  nothing 
surprising  about  the  fact." 

"  True  again  ;  but  you  do  not  know 
the  proverb,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  quote 
it." 

"  Here  it  is  ;  'If  you  wish  for  your 
company,  deal  the  cards.'  " 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"  Why,  nothing  is  easier,  as  you 
shall  see." 

"  1  wish  for  nothing  better,"  the  girl 
said,  who  was  extraordinary  amused  by 
this  conversation. 

The  stranger  rose,  placed  the  cards  in 
his  pocket  with  the  respect  every  pro 
fessional  gambler  shews  to  this  opera 
tion,  and,  carelessly  leaning  on  the  neck 
of  the  girl's  horse,  he  said  : 

"  Owing  to  reasons  too  long  to  nar 
rate,  I  find  myself  alone,  lost  in  this 
immense  prairie  which  I  do  not  know,  I 
an  honest  inhabitant  of  towns,  not  at 


all  conversant  with  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  desert,  and  consequently 
exposed  to  die  of  hunger." 

"  Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you  ;  I 
would  merely  observe  that  as  we  are 
some  three  hundred  miles  from  the 
nearest  town,  you,  the  civilized  man, 
must  have  been  wandering  about  the 
desert  for  a  considerable  length  of 
time." 

"That  is  true:  what  you  say  could 
not  be  more  correct,  comrade,  but  that 
results  from  what  I  mentioned  just  now, 
and  which  would  take  too  long  to  tell 
you." 

"  Very  good  ;  go  on." 

"  Well,  finding  myself  lost,  I  remem 
bered  the  proverb  of  my  country,  and 
taking  the  cards  from  my  afforjas, 
though  I  was  alone,  I  began  playing, 
feeling  certain  that  an  adversary  would 
soon  arrive,  not  to  take  a  hand,  but  to 
get  me  out  of  my  trouble." 

White  Gazelle  suddenly  reassumed 
her  seriousness,  and  drew  herself  up  in 
her  saddle. 

"  You  have  won  the  game,"  she  said ; 
"  for,  as  you  see,  Don  Andres  Garote,  I 
have  come." 

On  hearing  his  name  pronounced,  the 
ranchero,  for  it  was  really  our  old  ac 
quaintance,  suddenly  raised  his  head, 
and  looked  the  speaker  in  the  face. 

"  Who  are  you,  then,"  he  said,  "  who 
know  me  so  well,  and  yet  1  do  not  re 
member  ever  having  met  you  ?" 

"  Come,  come,"  the  girl  said  with  a 
laugh,  "  your  memory  is  short,  master  : 
what,  do  you  not  remember  White 
Gazelle  ?" 

At  this  name  the  ranchero  started 
back. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  fool :  it  is  true  ;  but  I 

was  so  far  from  supposing pardon 

me,  senorita." 

"  How  is  it,"  White  Gazelle  inter 
rupted  him,  "  that  you  have  thus  des 
erted  Red  Cedar  ?" 

"  Caramba  !"  the  ranchero  exclaim 
ed  ;  "  say  that  Red  Cedar  has  deserted 
me  ;  but  it  is  not  that  which  troubles 

3  ;  I  have  an  old  grudge  against  an 
other  of  my  comrades." 

"Ah?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  should  like  to  avenge 
myself,  the  more  so,  because  I  believe 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


that  I  have  the  means  In  my  hands  at 
this  moment." 

"  And  who  is  that  friend  ?" 

"  You  know  him  as  well  as  I  do,  Se- 
norita  ?" 

"  That  is  possible ;  but,  unless  his 
name  be  a  secret " 

"  Oh,  no,"  the  rauchero  quickly  in 
terrupted  her,  "  the  man  I  mean  is  Fray 
Ambrosio." 

The  girl,  at  this  name,  began  to  take 
a  great  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  Fray  Ambrosio!"  she  said,  "  what 
charge  have  you  to  bring  against  that 
worthy  man  ?" 

The  rauchero  looked  the  girl  in  the 
face  to  see  if  she  were  speaking  se 
riously  ;  but  White  Gazelle's  face  was 
cold  and  stern  ;  he  tossed  his  head. 

"  It  is  an  account  between  him  and 
me,"  he  said,  "  which  heaven  will  de 
cide." 

"Very  good  ;  I  ask  for  no  explana 
tion,  but,  as  your  affairs  interest  me 
very  slightly,  and  I  have  important 
matters  of  my  own  to  attend  to,  you 
will  permit  me  to  retire." 

"Why  so?"  the  ranchero  asked 
quickly;  "we  are  comfortable  toge 
ther,  then  why  should  we  separate  ?" 

"Because,  in  all  probality,  we  are 
not  going  the  same  road." 

"  Who  knows,  Nina,  whether  we 
are  not  destined  to  travel  in  company 
since  I  have  met  you?" 

"  I  am  not  of  that  opinion.  I  am 
about  to  join  a  man  whom  I  fancy  you 
would  not  at  all  like  to  meet  face  to 
face." 

"  I  don't  know,  Nina,"  the  ranchero 
answered,  with  considerable  animation  ; 
"  I  want  to  revenge  myself  on  that  ac 
cursed  monk  called  Fray  Ambrosio;  1 
am  too  weak  to  do  so  by  myself,  or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  too  great  a  cow 
ard." 

"  Very  good,"  the  girl  exclaimed, 
with  a  smile;  "then  how  will  you 
manage  that  your  vengeance  does  not 
slip  from  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  simply  ;  I  know  a  man  in 
the  desert  who  detests  him  mortally, 
and  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have 
sufficient  proofs  against  him,  for,  unfor 
tunately,  that  man  has  the  failing  of 
being  honest." 


"  Indeed." 

'•  Yes,  what  would  you  have  ?  no 
man  is  perfect." 

"  And  who  is  this  man  t" 

"  Oh,  you  never  heard  of  him,  Nina." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  at  any  rate 
you  can  tell  pie  his  name." 

"  As  you  please ;  he  is  called  Blood- 
sen." 

"  Bloodson  ?"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
start  of  surprise. 

"  Yes — do  you  know  him  ?" 

"Slightly  ;   but  go  on." 

"  That  is  all  ;  I  am  looking  for  this 
man." 

"  And  you  have,  you  say,  in  your 
possession  the  means  of  destroying 
Fray  Ambrosio  ?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  it  ?" 

The  ranchero  shrugged  his  shoulders 
significantly  ;  White  Gazelle  gave  him. 
one  of  those  profound  glances  which 
read  the  heart. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  to  him,  as  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  ;  "  I  can 
help  you  to  find  the  man  you  seek." 

"  Bloodson  ?''  ' 

"  Yes." 

"  Are  you  speaking  seriously  ?''  the 
gambusino  asked,  with  a  start  of  sur 
prise. 

"I  could  not  be  more  serious  ;  still, 
I  must  be  sure  that  your  statement  is 
true." 

Andres  Garote  looked  at  her. 

"  Do  you  also  owe  Fray  Ambrosio  a 
grudge  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"  That  does  not  concern  you,"  she  an 
swered  ;  "  we  are  not  talking  of  myself, 
but  of  you.  Have  you  these  proofa? 
Yes,  or  no." 

"  I  have  them." 

"  Truly  ?" 

"  On  my  honor." 

"  Follow  me,  then,  and  within  two 
hours  you  shall  see  Bloodson." 

The  ranchero  quivered,  and  a  smile 
of  joy  lit  up  his  bronzed  countenance 
as  he  leaped  on  his  horse. 

"  Let  us  be  off,"  he  said. 

In  the  meanwhile,  day  had  surrender 
ed  to  night,  the  sun  had  long  been  set, 
and  an  immense  number  of  stars  stud 
ded  the  heavenly  vault ;  the  travelers 
rode  on  silently  side  by  side. 


74 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  Shall  we  soon  arrive  ?"  Andres 
Garote  asked. 

White  Gazelle  stretched  out  her  arm 
in  the  direction  they  were  following, 
and  pointed  at  a  light  flashing  a  short 
distance  off  through  the  trees. 

"  There  it  is,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CONVALESCENCE. 

RED  CEDAR  recovered  but  slowly  in 
spite  of  the  constant  attention  shown 
him  by  Father  Seraphin,  Ellen,  and  the 
hunter's  mother.  The  moral  shock  the 
bandit  had  received  on  finding  himself 
face  to  face  with  the  missionary  had 
been  too  powerful  not  to  have  a  serious 
effect  on  his  constitution.  Still,  the 
squatter  had  not  relapsed  since  the  day 
when,  on  returning  to  life,  he  had  hum 
bly  bowed  before  the  man  of  God. 
Whether  it  was  true  repentance,  or  a 
part  he  played,  he  had  persevered  on 
this  path,  to  the  edification  of  the  mis 
sionary  and  the  two  women,  who  never 
ceased  to  thank  Heaven  from  their 
hearts  for  this  change. 

So  soon  as  he  could  rise  and  take  a 
few  steps  in  the  cavern,  Father  Sera 
phin,  who  constantly  feared  Valentine's 
arrival,  asked  him  what  his  intentions 
were  for  the  future,  and  what  mode  of 
life  he  proposed  adopting. 

"  Father,"  the  squatter  answered, 
"henceforth  I  belong  to  you  :  whatever 
yon  counsel  me,  I  will  do  ;  still,  1  would 
remind  you  that  I  am  a  species  of  savage, 
whose  whole  life  has  been  spent  in  the 
desert.  Of  what  use  should  I  be  in  a 
town  among  people  whose  Habits  or 
characters  1  should  not  understand  ?" 

"  Tha't  is  true,"  the  priest  said  ;  "  and 
then,  without  resources  as  you  are,  old 
and  ignorant  of  any  other  labor  than 
that  of  a  wood-ranger,  you  would  only 
lead  a  miserable  existence." 

"  That  would  prove  no  obstacle,  fath 
er,  were  it  an  expiation  for  me ;  but  I 
have  too  deeply  offended  ever  to  return 
among  them  ;  I  must  live  and  die  in  the 
desert,  striving  to  requite,  by  an  old 
age  exempt  from  blame,  the  faults  and 


crimes  of  a  youth  which  I  hold  in  hor 
ror." 

"I  approve  your  design,  for  it  is 
good  ;  grant  me  a  few  days  for  reflec 
tion,  and  I  will  find  you  the  means  to 
live  as  you  propose." 

The  conversation  broke  off  here,  and 
a  month  elapsed  ere  the  missionary 
made  any  further  allusion  to  it.  The 
squatter  had  always  shown  Ellen  a  cer 
tain  coarse  and  rough  friendship,  per 
fectly  harmonizing  with  the  coarseness 
and  brutality  of  his  character  ;  but  since 
he  had  been  able  to  appreciate  the  girl's 
utter  devotion  and  the  self-denial  she 
had  displayed  for  his  sake,  a  species  of 
revolution  had  taken  place  in  him ;  a 
new  feeling  was  awakened  in  his  heart, 
and  he  began  loving  this  charming  crea 
ture  with  all  the  strength  of  his  soul. 

This  brutal  man  suddenly  grew  softer 
at  the  sight  of  the  girl  ;  a  flash  of  joy 
shot  from  his  savage  eyes,  and  his 
mouth,  habituated  to  curses,  opened 
gladly  to  utter  gentle  words.  Fre 
quently,  when  seated  on  the  mounted 
slope,  near  the  cavern,  he  talked  with 
her  for  hours,  taking  an  infinite  delight 
in  hearing  the  melodious  sound  of  that 
voice  whose  charms  he  had  hitherto 
been  ignorant  of. 

Ellen,  hiding  her  sorrows,  feigned  a 
delight  which  was  far  from  her  mind, 
not  to  sadden  the  man  she  regarded  as 
her  father,  and  who  seemed  so  happy  at 
seeing  her  by  his  side.  Certainly,  if 
any  one  at  this  moment  had  an  ascen 
dency  over  the  old  pirate's  mind,  and 
could  bring  him  back  to  the  right  path, 
it  was  Ellen.  She  knew  it,  and,  used 
the  power  she  had  acquired  cleverly,  to 
try  and  convert  this  man,  who  had  only 
been  a  species  of  evil  genius  to  human 
ity. 

One  morning,  when  Red  Cedar,  al 
most  entirely  cured  of  his  wounds,  was 
taking  his  accustomed  walk,  leaning  on 
Ellen's  arm,  Father  Seraphin,  who  had 
been  absent  for  two  days,  stood  before 
him. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you,  father,"  the  squatter 
said  on  seeing  him  ;  "  I  was  alarmed  at 
your  absence,  and  am  glad  to  see  you 
back." 

"  How  are  you  ?"  the  missionary 
asked. 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


75 


"  I  should  be  quite  well  if  I  had  en 
tirely  recovered  my  strength,  but  that 
will  soon  return." 

"All  the  better;  for  if  my  absence 
was  long,  you  were  to  some  extent  the 
cause  of  it." 

"  How  so  V  the  squatter  asked,  curi 
ously. 

"You  remember  you  expressed  a 
desire  some  time  back  to  live  in  the 
prairie  ?" 

"  I  did." 

"  It  appears  to  me  very  prudent  on 
vour  part,  and  will  enable  you  to  es- 
ctipe  the  pursuit  of  your  enemies." 

"  Believe  me,  father,"  Red  Cedar 
said,  gravely,  "  that  I  have  no  desire  to 
escape  those  I  have  offended.  If  my 
death  could  recal  the  crimes  of  which  I 
have  been  guilty,  I  would  not  hesitate 
to  sacrifice  my  life  to  public  justice." 

"  I  am  happy,  my  friend,  to  find  you 
imbued  with  these  good  sentiments ; 
but  I  believe  that  God,  who  in  no  case 
desires  the  death  of  a  sinner,  will  be 
more  satisfied  to  see  you  repair,  by  an 
exemplary  life,as  far  as  in  your  power, 
all  the  evil  you  have  done." 

"  I  belong  to  you,  father  ;  whatever 
you  advise  me  will  be  an  order  to  rne, 
and  I  will  obey  it  gladly.  Since  Pro 
vidence  has  permitted  me  to  meet  you, 
I  have  understood  the  enormity  of  my 
crimes.  Alas  !  I  am  not  alone  respon 
sible  for  them  :  never  having  had  any 
but  evil  examples  before  me,  I  did  not 
know  the  difference  between  good  and 
evil.  I  believed  that  all  men  were 
wicked,  and  only  acted  as  I  did  because 
I  considered  I  was  legitimately  defend 
ing  myself." 

"  Now  that  your  ear  is  open  to  the 
truth,  your  mind  is  beginning  to  under 
stand  the  sublime  precepts  of  the  gos 
pel.  Your  road  is  ready  traced  ;  hence 
forth  you  will  only  have  to  preserve  in 
the  path  on  which  you  have  so  freely 
entered." 

"  Alas  !"  the  squatter  muttered,  with 
a  sigh,  "  I  am  a  creature  so  unworthy 
of  pardon,  that  I  fear  the  Almighty  will 
not  take  pity  on  me." 

"  Those  words  are  an  insult  to 
Deity,"  the  priest  said,  severely  ;  "  how 
ever  culpable  a  sinner  may  be,  he  must 
never  despair  of  the  divine  clemency  ; 


does  not  the  gospel  say,  there  is  more 
joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  re- 
pentt  th,  than  over  ten  just  men  who 
have  persevered  ?" 

"  Forgive  me,  father." 
"  Come,"  the  missionary  said,  chang 
ing  his  tone,  '*  let  us  return  to  the  mat 
ter  which  brings  me  to  you.  1  have 
had  built  for  you,  a  few  leagues  from 
here,  in  a  delicious  situation,  a  jacal,  in 
which  you  can  live,  with  your  daugh 
ter." 

"  How  kind  you  are,  father,"  the 
squatter  said,  warmly ;  "  how  much 
gratitude  I  owe  you." 

"Do  not  speak  of  that ;  I  shall  be 
sufficiently  recompensed  if  I  see  you 
persevere  in  your  repentance." 

"  Oh,  father,  believe  that  I  detest  and 
hold  in  horror  my  past  life." 

"  I  trust  that  it  may  ever  be  so. 
This  jacal,  to  which  I  will  take  you  so 
soon  as  you  please,  is  situated  in  a  po 
sition  which  renders  it  almost  impossi 
ble  to  discover.  I  have  supplied  it 
with  the  articles  requisite  for  your  life; 
you  will  find  there  food  to  last  several 
days,  arms  and  gunpowder  to  defend 
you,  if  attacked  by  wild  beasts,  and  to 
go  hunting  with ;  I  have  added  nets, 
beaver-traps — in  a  word,  eyery thing  re 
quired  by  a  hunter  and  trapper." 

"  Oh,  how  kind  you  are,  father,"  El 
len  said  with  tears  of  joy  in  her  eyes. 

"  Nonsense,  say  nothing  about  that," 
the  missionary  remarked,  gaily  ;  "  I 
have  only  done  my  duty.  As  a  further 
security,  and  to  avoid  any  possible  in 
discretion,  I  have  not  told  the  secret  of 
your  retreat  to  any  one  :  the  jacal  was 
built  by  my  own  hands,  without  the  as 
sistance  of  a  stranger.  You  can,  there- 
tore,  feel  certain  that  no  one  will  trou 
ble  you  in  the  hermitage." 

"  And  when  can   I  go  to  it,  father?" 

"Whenever  you  please;  all  is 
ready." 

"  Ah,  if  I  did  not  fear  appearing  un 
grateful,  I  would  say  I  will  go  at  once." 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  strong  en 
ough  to  undertake  a  journey  of  fifteen 
leagues?" 

"  I  feel  extraordinary  strong  at  this 
moment,  fatner." 

"  Come,  then ;  for  had  you  not  made 
the  proposition,  I  intended  to  do  so." 


76 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  In  that  case,  father,  all  is  for  the 
best ;  and  you  are  not  vexed  to  see  me 
so  anxious  to  leave  you,  father." 

"  Not  at  all,  be  assured.1' 

While  talking  thus,  the  three  persons 
had  descended  the  mountain  side,  and 
reached  the  ravine,  where  horses  were 
awaiting  them,  held  by  an  Indian. 

"In  the  desert,"  the  missionary  said, 
"  it  is  almost  impossible  to  do  without 
horses,  owing  to  the  great  distance  one 
has  to  go ;  you  will  therefore  oblige 
me  by  keeping  these." 

"  It  is  too  much,  father,  you  really 
overwhelm  me  with  kindness." 

Father  Seraphin  shook  his  head. 

"  Understand  me,  Red  Cedar,"  he 
said  ;  "  in  all  I  do  for  you  there  is  far 
more  calculation  than  you  suppose." 

"  Oh  !"  Red  Odar  said. 

"  Calculation  in  a  good  action  !"  Ellen 
exclaimed,  incredulously;  "you  must 
be  jesting,  father." 

"  No,  my  child,  1  speak  seriously,  and 
you  will  understand  ;  I  have  tried  to 
regulate  your  father's  life  so  well,  place 
him  so  thoroughly  in  a  condition  to  be 
come  a  brave  and  honest  hunter,  that  it 
will  be  impossible  for  him  to  find  the 
slightest  pretext  for  returning  to  his  old 
errors,  and  all  the  fault  will  attach  to 
him  if  he  does  not  persevere  in  the  re 
solution  he  has  formed  of  amendment." 

"  That  is  true,"  Red  Cedar  answered; 
"  well,  father,  I  thank  you  for  this  cal 
culation,  which  makes  me  the  happiest 
of  men,  and  proves  to  me  that  you 
have  confidence  in  me." 

"  Come,  come,  to  horse  !" 

They  started. 

Red  Cedar  inhaled  the  air  deliciously  ; 
he  felt  born  again,  he  was  once  more 
free.  The  missionary  examined  him 
curiously,  analysing  the  feelings  which 
the  squatter  experienced,  and  trying  to 
form  some  opinion  of  the  future  from 
what  he  saw.  Red  Cedar  understood 
instinctively  that  he  was  watched  by 
his  comrade  ;  hence,  to  deceive  him  as 
to  his  feelings,  he  burst  out  into  a  loud 
expression  of  his  gratitude,  part  of 
which  was  certainly  true,  but  which  was 
too  noisy  not  to  be  exaggerated.  The 
missionary  pretended  to  be  taken  in  by 
this  device,  and  talked  pleasantly 
throughout  the  ride. 


About  six  hours  after  leaving  the 
cave,  they  reached  the  jacal.  It  was  a 
pretty  little  hut  of  interlaced  reeds, 
divided  into  several  rooms,  with  a  cor 
ral  behind  for  the  horses.  Nothing  was 
wanting;  hidden  in  the  bottom  of  a  val 
ley,  very  difficult  to  approach,  it  stood 
on  the  bank  of  a  small  stream  that  flow 
ed  into  the  Gila.  In  a  word,  the  posi 
tion  of  this  wild  abode  was  delightful, 
and  nothing  was  more  easy  than  to  be 
perfectly  happy  in  it. 

When  the  travellers  had  dismounted, 
and  led  their  horses  into  this  corral, 
Father  Seraphin  went  over  the  jacal 
with  his  two  proteges.  All  was  as  he 
had  stated  ;  and  if  there  was  not  much 
to  increase  comfort,  at  any  rate  every 
thing  strictly  necessary  had  been  pro 
vided.  Ellen  was  delighted,  and  her 
father  pretended,  perhaps,  to  be  more 
so  than  he  really  was.  After  spending 
an  hour  with  them  Father  Seraphin 
took  leave  of  the  squatter  and  his 
daughter. 

"  Will  you  leave  us,  already,  father?" 
Ellen  said. 

"  I  must,  my  child  ;  you  know  that 
my  time  is  not  my  own,"  he  answered, 
as  he  leaped  on  his  horse,  which  the 
squatter  brought  him. 

"  I  hope,"  Red  Cedar  said,  "  that  your 
absence  will  not  be  long,  and  that  you 
will  remember  this  jacal,  where  two 
persons  live  who  owe  their  all  to  you." 

"  1  wish  to  leave  you  at  liberty.  If 
I  visited  you  too  frequently,  you 
might  see  in  that  a  species  of  inquisi 
tion,  and  that  impression  would  annoy 
you  ;  still  1  will  come,  do  not  doubt 
it." 

"  You  can  never  come  too  often,  fath 
er,"  they  both  said,  as  they  kissed  his 
hands. 

"  Farewell,  be  happy,"  the  missionary 
said,  tenderly;  "you  know  where  to 
find  me,  if  you  have  need  of  corfsolation 
or  help.  Come  to  me,  and  I  shall  be 
ever  ready  to  help  you  to  the  extent  of 
my  ability  :  little  though  I  can  do,  God, 
1  feel  convinced,  will  bless  my  efforts. 
Farewell." 

After  uttering  these  words,  the  mis 
sionary  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  trot 
ted  away. 

Red.  Cedar  and  his  daughter  looked 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


after  him  so  long  as  they  could  see  him, 
and  when  he  disappeared  in  the  chap- 
paral,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 
they  gave  vent  to  a  sigh,  and  entered 
the  jacal. 

"  Worthy  and  holy  man  !"  the  squat 
ter  muttered,  as  he  tell  into  a  butacca. 
"  Oh  !  I  will  not  crush  the  hopes  he  has 
built  on  my  conversion  !" 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

AN     ACCOMPLICE. 

ivtD  CEDAR  accustomed  himself  more 
easily  than  his  daughter  thought  possi 
ble,  to  the  life  prepared  for  him.  Af 
ter  all,  no  change  had  taken  place  in  his 
existence ;  with  the  exception  of  the 
mode  of  procedure,  it  was  still  the  same 
labour,  that  is  to  say,  a  desert  life  in  all 
its  splendid  liberty  ;  hunting  and  fishing, 
while  Ellen  remained  at  home  to  attend 
to  household  duties.  At  night,  however, 
before  retiring  to  rest,  the  girl  read  her 
father  a  chapter  from  a  Bible  Father 
Ser;iphin  had  given  her.  The  squatter, 
with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  listened  to  her  with  an  at 
tention  that  surprised  himself,  and 
which  each  day  only  increased.  It  was 
an  exquisite  picture  presented  in  this 
obscure  nook  of  the  great  American 
desert,  amid  this  grand  scenery,  in  this 
wretched  hut,  which  the  slightest  breath 
of  wind  caused  to  tremble,  by  this 
athletic  old  man,  with  his  energetic  and 
stern  features,  listening  to  this  pale-fa 
ced  and  delicate  girl,  whose  fine  features 
and  shadowy  outline  formed  so  strong  a 
contrast  with  those,  of  her  hearer. 

It  was  the  same  life  every  day ;  the 
squatter  was  happy,  or,  at  least,  fancied 
himself  so  ;  like  all  men  whose  life  has 
been  but  one  long  drama,  and  who  are 
made  for  action,  recollections  held  but 
little  place  in  him  ;  he  forgot,  and  fan 
cied  himself  forgotten. 

Ellen  suffered, for  she  was  unhappy;this 
existence,  with  no  outlet  and  no  future, 
was  full  of  disenchantment  for  her,  as 
it  condemned  her  to  renounce  for  ever 
that  supreme  blessing  of  every  human 
creature,  hope.  Still,  through  fear  of 


afflicting  her  father,  she  carefully  shut 
up  in  her  heart  her  sorrow,  and  only 
displayed  a  smiling  face  in  his  presence. 
Red  Cedar  yielded  more  and  more  to 
the  charms  of  a  life  which  was  pleasant 
to  him.  If,  at  times,  the  recollection  of 
his  sons  troubled  the  repose  in  which 
he  lived,  he  looked  at  his  daughter,  and 
the  sight  of  the  angel  he  possessed,  and 
who  had  devoted  herself  to  his  happi 
ness,  drove  any  other  thoughts  far 
away. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Father  Seraphin 
visited  the  tenants  of  the  jacal  several 
times;  and  if  satisfied  with  the  resigna 
tion  with  which  the  squatter  accepted 
his  new  position,  the  dull  sorrow  that 
undermined  the  maiden  had  not  escap 
ed  his  clear-sighted  glance.  His  expe 
rience  of  the  world  told  him  that  a  girl 
of  Ellen's  age  could  not  thus  spend  her 
fairest  years  in  solitude,  without  contact 
with  society.  Unfortunately,  a  remedy 
was  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  find  ; 
the  good  missionary  did  not  deceive 
himself  on  this  point,  and  understood 
that  all  the  consolations  he  lavished  on 
the  maiden,  were  thrown  away,  and  that 
nothing  could  effectually  combat  the 
listlessness  into  which  she  had  fallen. 

As  always  happens  in  such  cases,  Red 
Cedar  did  not  in  the  slightest  degree 
suspect  his  daughter's  grief;  she  was 
gentle,  affectionate,  attentive  to  him  ; 
he  profited  by  it  all,  finding  himself  per 
fectly  happy,  and  in  his  egotism,  not 
seeing  further.  The  days  slipped  away, 
each  resembling  the  other  ;  in  the 
meanwhile,  the  winter  came  on,  game 
became  rarer,  and  Red  Cedar's  absences 
from  home  grew  longer.  Around  the 
tops  of  the  mountains  were  collected 
the  grayish  clouds,  which  daily  descend 
ed  lower,  and  would  eventually  burst 
over  the  prairie  in  the  shape  of  rain 
and  snow. 

Winter  is  a  terrible  season  in  the 
Far  West  :  all  scourges  combine  to  as 
sail  the  unhappy  man  whom  his  evil 
destiny  has  cast  into  these  disinherited 
countries  without  the  means  to  brave 
their  frightful  climate,  and,  victim  to 
his  want  of  foresight,  he  presently  dies 
of  hunger  and  misery,  after  enduring 
inconceivable  tortures.  Red  Cedar 
knew  the  Far  West  too  long  and  too 


78 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


thoroughly  not  to  perceive  the  ar 
rival  of  this  season  with  a  species  of 
terror  ;  hence  he  sought,  by  all  possible 
means,  to  procure  the  necessary  pro 
visions  and  indispensable  furs. 

Rising  at  daybreak,  he  galloped  over 
the  prairie,  exploring  it  in  every  direc 
tion,  and  not  returning  home  till  night 
compelled  him  to  give  up  the  chase. 
But,  as  we  have  said,  game  was  becom 
ing  more  and  more  rare,  and  conse 
quently  his  journeys  longer. 

One  morning  Red  Cedar  rose  earlier 
than  usual,  left  the  jacal  noiselessly  for 
fear  of  waking  his  daughter,  saddled  his 
horse,  and  started  at  a  gallop.  lie  had 
found,  on  the  previous  evening,  the 
trail  of  a  magnificent  black  bear,  which 
he  had  followed  to  within  a  short  dis 
tance  of  the  cave  to  which  it  retired, 
and  he  intended  to  attack  it  in  its  lair. 
To  do  that,  he  must  make  haste,  for  the 
bear  is  not  like  other  wild  beasts :  it 
seeks  its  food  during  the  day,  and  gen 
erally  leaves  its  abode  at  an  early 
hour.  The  squatter,  perfectly  acquaint 
ed  with  the  animal's  habits,  had  there 
fore  taken  up  the  trail  as  soon  as  he 
could. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  risen  ;  the  *ky 
of  a  dark  blue,  was  only  just  begin 
ning  to  assume  on  the  extreme  verge 
of  the  horizon  those  opaline  tints  w:hich 
presently  turn  into  pink,  and  are  the 
precursors  of  sun-rise.  The  day 
promised  to  be  splendid  :  a  light 
breeze  slightly  bowed  the  leafy  sum 
mits  of  the  trees,  and  scarce  wrinkled 
the  little  stream  whose  bank  the  squat 
ter  was  following.  A  light  fog  rose 
from  the  ground,  impregnated  with 
those  sharp  odours  which  expand  the 
chest  so  gloriously.  The  birds  woke 
one  after  the  other  beneath  the  leaves, 
and  softly  produced  the  melodious  con 
cert  they  perform  each  morning  to  sa 
lute  the  re-awakening  of  nature.  By 
degrees  the  darkness  was  effaced,  the 
sun  rose  brilliantly  on  the  horizon,  and 
the  day  broke  splendidly. 

Red  Cedar,  on  reaching  the  entrance 
of  a  narrow  gorge,  at  the  end  of  which 
•was  the  bear's  den,  in  the  midst  of  a 
chaos  of  rocks,  stopped  a  few  minutes 
to  regain  breath,  and  make  his  final 
preparations.  He  dismounted,  hob 


bled  his  horse,  and  gave  it  its  forage  , 
then,  after  assuring  himself  that  his 
knife  played  easily  in  the  sheath,  and 
his  rifle  was  in  good  order,  he  entered 
the  defile. 

The  squatter  walked  in  with  out 
stretched  neck,  and  eye  and  ear  on  the 
watch,  when  suddenly  a  hand  was  laid 
on  his  shoulder,  and  a  hoarse  laugh 
smote  his  ear.  He  turned  with  sur 
prise,  but  this  surprise  was  converted 
into  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  man  who, 
standing  before  him  with  arms  folded 
on  his  chest,  was  regarding  him  with  a 
look  of  mockery. 

"Fray  Ambrosio!"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  fell  back  a  step. 

"  Ilalloah,  gossip,"  the  latter  said  ; 
"  on  my  soul,  you  must  be  hard  of 
hearing :  I  called  you  a  dozen  times, 
and  you  did  not  deign  to  answer  me. 
Satanas  !  1  was  obliged  to  touch  you 
before  you  would  see  that  somebody 
wanted  you." 

"  What  is  your  business  with  me  ?" 
the  squatter  asked  in  an  icy  tone. 

"  What  I  want,  gossip  1  that's  a 
strange  question  :  don't  you  know  it  as 
well  as  I  do?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  yon,"  Red 
Cedar  said,  still  perfectly  calm  ;  "so 
explain  yourself,  if  you  please." 

"  I  will  do  so,  my  master,"  the 
monk  answered,  with  a  mocking  smile. 

"  But  make  haste,  for  I  warn  you 
that  I  arn  in  a  hurry." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  !  well,  I  have 
plenty  of  time,  so  you  must  find  some 
to  listen  to  me." 

The  squatter  gave  a  passionate  start, 
which  he,  however,  immediately 
checked. 

"Yes,  it  is  so,"  the  monk  said 
coolly  ;  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you 
a  long  time." 

•' Come,  a  truce  to  talking!  Here 
I  am,  explain  yourself  in  two  words. 
I  say  again,  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"  And  I  repeat  that  I  do  not  care  if 
you  are.  Oh  !  you  may  frown,  gossip, 
but  you  must  listen  to  me." 

Red  Cedar  stamped  his  foot  angrily , 
taking  one  step  to  the  monk,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looked 
fiercely  in  his  face. 

"  Why,  master,"  he  said   in  a  short, 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


harsh  voice,  "  I  fancy,  on  my  side, 
that  we  are  changing  parts,  and 
that  you  treat  me  very  curtly  ; 
take  care,  I  am  not  patient,  as  you 
know,  and  if  you  do  not  mind,  my  pa 
tience  might  soon  fail  me." 

"That  is  possible,"  the  monk  an 
swered  impudently ;  "  but  if  we  have 
changed  our  parts,  whose  fault  is  it, 
pray,  mine  or  yours?  Your  sons  are 
right  in  saying  that  you  have  turned 
monk,  and  are  no  longer  fit  for  any 
thing." 

"  Villain  !"  the  squatter  shouted,  and 
raising  his  hand. 

"  That  will  do  !  insults  now  !  don't 
be  bashful  :  1  like  you  better  that  way, 
at  least  1  recognize  you.  Hum  !  what 
a  change!  i  must  confess  that  those 
French  missionaries  are  real  sorcerers: 
what  a  misfortune  that  since  the  inde 
pendence  the  inquisition  no  longer 
exists  !" 

Red  Cedar  looked  at  the  monk,  who 
fixed  on  him  his  fierce  eye  with  a  dia 
bolical  expression  ;  the  squatter  was 
suffering  from  one  of  those  bursts  of 
cold  passion,  which  are  the  more  terri 
ble,  because  they  are  concentrated.  He 
felt  an  extraordinary  itching  to  crush 
the  scoundrel  who  was  mocking  him, 
and  made  impotent  efforts  to  repress 
the  anger  which  was  beginning  to  get 
the  mastery  of  him.  The  monk  WHS 
not  so  much  at  his  ease  as  he  pretend 
ed  to  be.  He  saw  tiie  squatter's  frown 
grow  deeper,  his  face  become  livid ; 
all  this  foreboded  a  storm  which  he 
was  not  anxious  to  see  burst  to  his 
presence. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  in  a  softer  key, 
"  why  should  old  friends  quarrel  ? 
Con  mil  denwnios — I  am  only  here 
with  a  good  intent,  and  to  do  you  a 
service." 

The  squatter  laughed  contempt 
uously. 

"  You  do  not  believe  me,"  the  monk 
continued,  with  an  air  of  beatitude; 
"  that  does  not  surprise  me,  it  is  al 
ways  so.  Good  intentions  are  misun 
derstood,  and  a  man  believes  his  ene 
mies  in  preference  to  his  friends." 

"A  truce  to  your  nonsense,"  the 
squatter  said,  impatiently  ;  "  I  have 
listened  to  you  too  long  already  ;  let 


me  pass,  and  you  can  go  to  the  devil." 
"Thanks  for  the  proposition  you 
make  me,"  the  monk  said  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  but  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  will 
not  take  advantage  of  it,  at  least  for 
the  present.  But,  jesting  apart,  there 
are  two  persons  close  by  anxious  to  see 
you,  and  whom  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
delighted  to  meet." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  I  suppose 
they  are  rogues  of  your  own  sort." 

"Probably,"  the  monk  said;  "how- 
ever  you  shall  judge  for  yourself,  gos 
sip." 

And,  not  waiting  for  the  squatter's 
answer,  the  monk  imitated  thrice  the 
hiss  of  the  coral-snake.  At  the  third 
time  a  slight  movement  took  place  in 
the  shrubs  a  short  distance  off,  and  two 
men  leaped  into  the  defile.  The  squat 
ter  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise,  almost  of 
terror,  on  seeing  them  :  he  had  recog 
nised  his  two  sons,  Nathan  and  Sutter. 
The  young  men  walked  up  quickly  to 
their  father,  whom  they  saluted  with  a 
respect  mingled  with  irony,  which  did 
not  escape  his  notice. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  father,"  Sutter 
said,  roughly,  as  he  banged  the  butt  of 
his  rifle  on  the  ground,  and  rested  his 
hands  on  the  muzzle;  "a  man  has  a 
hard  run  before  he  can  catch  you  up." 

"  It  seems  that  since  our  separation 
father  has  turned  Quaker ;  hi.->  new  re 
ligion,  probably,  orders  him  not  to  fre 
quent  such  bad  company  as  ours." 

"Silence,  you  villains  !"  the  squatter 
shouted,  stamping  his  foot ;  "  1  do  what 
1  please,  and  no  one  that  1  know  of  ha.s 
a  right  to  interfere." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  father,"  Sutter 
said  drily  ;  "  1,  for  instance,  consider 
your  conduct  unworthy  of  a  man." 

"Not  mentioning,"  the  monk  sup 
ported  him,  "  that  you  place  your  con 
federates  in  a  fix,  which  is  not  right." 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  Nathan 
said;  "if  father  likes  to  turn  Puritan, 
that  is  his  business,  and  1  will  not  find 
fault  with  him ;  but  there  is  a  time  for 
everything,  To  my  mind,  when  a  man 
is  surrounded  by  enemies  and  tracked 
Ike  a  wild  beast,  he  ought  not  to  put 
on  a  bheepskin,  and  pretend  to  be 
harmless." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  squatter 


80 


TUB     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


asked  impatiently  ;  "explain  yourself, 
once  for  all,  and  let  us  make  an  end  of 
this." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  Nathan  went  on ; 
"  while  you  are  sleeping  in  a  deceitful 
security,  your  enemies  are  watching 
and  constantly  weaving  the  web  in 
which  they  have  hopes  of  enfolding 
you  shortly.  Do  you  fancy  that  we 
have  not  known  your  retreat  for  a 
long  time?  who  can  hope  to  escape 
discovery  in  the  desert]  We  did  not 
wish,  however,  to  disturb  your  repose 
till  the  moment  arrived  fur  doing  so, 
and  that  is  why  you  did  not  see  us  be 
fore  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  the  monk  remarked  ;  "  but 
at  present  time  presses :  while  you 
trust  to  the  fine  words  of  the  French 
missionary,  who  cured  you  and  luils 
you  to  sleep,  in  order  always  to  keep 
you  under  his  thumb,  your  enemies  are 
silently  preparing  to  attack  you,  and 
finish  with  you  once  for  all." 

The  squatter  gave  a  start  of  amaze 
ment. 

"  Why,  that  man  saved  my  life,"  he 
said. 

The  three  men  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  What  use  is  experience  ?"  the  monk 
said,  turning  to  the  young  men  with  a 
significant  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 
"  Here  is  your  father,  a  man  whose 
whole  life  has  been  spent  in  the  desert, 
who  forgets  at  once  its  most  sacred  law, 
eye  for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  and  will 
not  understand  that  this  man,  who,  he 
says,  saved  his  life,  merely  cured  him 
to  torture  him  at  a  later  date,  and  have 
the  pleasure  of  depriving  him  of  that 
life  when  he  is  in  rude  health,  instead  of 
the  miserable  amount  left  him  when 
they  met." 

"  Oh,  no,"  the  squatter  shouted,  "  you 
lie !  that  is  impossible  !" 

"  That  is  impossible  !"  the  monk  re 
plied,  with  pity ;  "  oh,  how  blind  men 
are !  Come,  reflect,  gossip ;  had  not 
this  priest  an  insult  to  avenge  ?" 

"  It  is  true,"  Red  Cedar  muttered 
with  a  sigh  ;  "  but  he  forgave  me." 

"Forgave  you  !  do  you  ever  forgive 
anybody  ?  Nonsense,  you  are  mad, 
gossip!  I  see  there  is  nothing  to  be 
got  out  of  you.  Do  what  you  like — we 
leave  you." 


"  Yes,"  said  the  squatter,  "  leave  me; 
there  is  nothing  I  wish  more." 

The  monk  and  his  comrades  went 
away  a  few  paces,  but  Fray  Ambrosio 
suddenly  returned. 

Red  Cedar  was  still  standing  at  the 
same  spot  with  hanging  head  and  frown 
ing  brow. 

The  monk  saw  the  squatter  was 
shaken,  and  the  moment  had  arrived  to 
deal  the  great  blow. 

"Gossip,"  he  said,  "a  parting  word, 
or,  if  you  prefer,  a  last  piece  of  advice." 

"What  is  there  now?"  Red  Cedar 
said,  nervously. 

"  Watch  over  Ellen  !" 

"  What !"  the  squatter  yelled,  as  he 
bounded  like  a  panther  and  seized  Fray 
Ambrosio  by  the  arm,  "  what  did  you 
say,  monk?" 

"  I  said,"  the  other  replied,  in  a  firm 
and  marked  voice,  "that  your  enemies 
wish  to  punish  you  through  Ellen,  and 
that  if  that  accursed  monk  has  hitherto 
appeared  to  protect  you,  it  was  because 
he  feared  lest  the  victim  he  covets 
might  escape  him." 

At  these  fearful  words,  a  horrible 
change  took  place  in  Red  Cedar ;  a  livid 
pallor  covered  his  face,  his  body  was 
agitated  by  a  convulsive  quivering. 

"  Oh  !"  he  shouted  with  the  roar  of  a 
tiger,  "  let  them  come,  then  !" 

The  monk  gave  his  comrades  a  tri 
umphant  glance ;  he  had  succeeded,  and 
held  his  palpitating  prey  in  his  hands. 

"Come,"  Red  Cedar  continued,  "do 
not  desert  me ;  we  will  crush  this  herd 
of  vipers.  Ah,  they  fancy  they  have 
me,"  he  added,  with  a  nervous  laugh 
that  almost  choked  him,  "  but  I  will 
show  them  that  the  old  lion  is  not  con 
quered  yet.  I  can  count  on  you,  my 
lads,  and  on  you,  Fray  Ambrosio  ?" 

"  We  are  your  only  friends,"  the 
monk  replied,  "  as  you  know  perfectly 
well." 

"That  is  true,"  he  went  on  ;  "  forgive 
me  for  having  forgotten  it  for  a  moment. 
Ah,  you  shall  see." 

Two  hours  later  the  three  men  reach 
ed  the  jacal,  and  on  seeing  them  enter, 
Ellen  felt  a  shudder  of  terror  run  over 
her ;  a  secret  foreboding  warned  her  of 
misfortune. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


81 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MOTHER     AND     SON. 

So  soon  as  Father  Seraphin  had  in 
stalled  Red  Cedar  and  Ellen  in  the 
jacal,  and  assured  himself  that  the  new 
life  he  had  procured  them  was  support 
able,  he  thought  about  keeping  his  pro 
mise  to  Valentine's  mother. 

The  worthy  female,  in  spite  of  all  her 
courage  and  resignation,  felt  her  strength 
daily  growing  less;  she  said  nothing, 
she  did  not  complain  ;  but  the  certainty 
of  being  so  near  her  son  and  yet  unable 
to  see  him,  to  press  him  in  her  arms 
after  such  a  lengthened  separation,  such 
cruel  alternations  of  cheated  hopes  and 
frightful  deceptions  plunged  her  into  a 
gloomy  melancholy  from  which  nothing 
could  draw  her;  she  felt  herself  dying 
by  inches,  and  had  arrived  at  the  terri 
ble  point  of  believing  that  she  would 
never  see  her  son  again,  for  he  was 
dead,  and  that  the  missionary,  through 
fear  of  dealing  her  a  terrible  blow,  de 
ceived  her  with  a  hope  which  could 
never  be  realized. 

Maternal  love  does  not  reason. 

All  that  Father  Seraphin  had  told  her 
to  cause  her  to  be  patient  had  only  lull 
ed  her  grief  for  a  while,  till  it  broke  out 
again  in  redoubled  impatience  and  anx 
iety.  All  she  had  seen  and  heard  since 
her  landing  in  America  had  only  in 
creased  her  anxiety,  by  showing  her 
how  life  in  this  country  often  only  hangs 
by  a  thread.  Hence,  when  the  mis 
sionary  informed  jher  that  in  a  week  at 
the  latest  she  should  embrace  her  son, 
her  joy  and  anxiety  were  so  great  that 
she  almost  fainted. 

At  first,  she  did  not  believe  in  such 
happiness.  Through  hoping  against 
hope  so  long,  she  had  reached  such  a 
state  of  distrust  that  she  supposed  that 
the  good  priest  only  told  her  this  to 
make  her  patient  for  a  while  longer,  and 
that  he  promised  this  meeting  just  as 
hopeless  sick  people  are  promised  things 
which  can  never  be  realized. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Father  Seraphin, 
though  certain  that  Valentine  was  at 
this  moment  on  the  prairie,  did  not 
know  where  to  lay  his  hand  on  him. 
So  soon  as  he  reached  the  grotto  he  in 


habited  provisionally,  he  sent  off  the  In 
dians  in  four  different  directions  to  ob 
tain  information  and  bring  him  positive 
news  of  the  hunter.  Valentine's  mother 
was  present  when  the  missionary  de 
spatched  these  couriers  ;  she  heard  tho 
instructions  he  gave  them,  saw  them 
start,  and  then  began  counting  the  mi 
nutes  till  their  return,  calculating  in  her 
mind  the  time  they  would  employ  in 
finding  her  son  and  in  returning,  the  in 
cidents  that  might  delay  them — in 
short,  making  those  countless  supposi 
tions  to  which  people  give  way  who  are 
impatiently  awaiting  anything  they 
eagerly  desire. 

Two  days  elapsed,  and  none  of  the 
couriers  returned ;  the  poor  mother, 
seated  on  a  rock,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  plain,  awaited  them,  motionless  and 
indefatigable.  At  the  close  of  the  third 
day,  she  perceived,  at  a  great  distance, 
a  black  point,  rapidly  approaching  the 
spot  where  she  was;  gradually,  it  be 
came  more  distinct,  and  she  recognized 
a  horseman  galloping  at  full  speed  up 
the  valley. 

The  mother's  heart  beat  as  if  ready 
to  burst.  It  was  evidently  one  of  the 
missionary's  messengers;  but  what  news 
did  he  bring?  At  length,  the  Indian 
dismounted,  and  began  scaling  the  hill 
side ;  the  old  woman  seemed  to  regain 
her  youthful  limbs,  so  rapidly  did  she 
go  to  meet  him,  and  cleared  in  a  few 
minutes  the  space  that  separated  them. 
Bat  when  they  were  face  to  face,  an 
other  obstacle  rose  before  her :  the  red 
skin  did  not  understand  a  word  of 
French ;  she,  for  her  part,  could  not 
speak  Indian.  But  mothers  have  a  spe 
cies  of  language,  a  freemasonry  of  the 
heart,  which  is  understood  in  all  coun 
tries. 

The  Comanche  warrior  stopped  be 
fore  her,  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest, 
and  bowed  with  a  gentle  smile,  merely 
uttering  the  word : 

"  Koutonepi !" 

Valentine's  mother  knew  that  the  In 
dians  were  accustomed  to  call  her  son 
thus  ;  and  she  suddenly  felt  reassured 
by  the  man's  smile,  and  the  way  in 
which  he  had  spoken  her  son's  name. 
She  took  the  warrior  by  the  arm,  and 
dragged  him  to  the  grotto,  at  the  en 


TUB    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


trance    of   which   Father   Seraphiri  was 
reading  his  breviary. 

"Well!"  he  asked  on  seeing  her, 
"  what  views?" 

"  This  man  could  tell  me  nothing," 
she  replied,  "  for  I  do  not  understand 
his  language ;  but  something  assures 
me  he  brings  good  news." 

"  With  your  leave,  I  will  question 
him." 

"  Do  so,  for  I  am  anxious  to  know 
what  I  have  to  expect." 

The  missionary  turned  to  the  Indian, 
who  stood  motionless  a  few  yards  off, 
and  had  listened  to  the  few  words 
spoken. 

"  The  brow  of  my  brother,  the 
Spider,  is  damp,"  he  said  ;  "  let  him 
take  a  place  by  my  side  and  rest :  he 
has  had  a  long  journey." 

The  Indian  smiled  gravely,  and  bow 
ed  respectfully  to  the  missionary. 

"The  Spider  is  a  chief  in  his  tribe," 
he  said  in  his  guttural  and  yet  melo 
dious  voice;  "he  can  bound  like  the 
jaguar,  and  crawl  like  the  serpent: 
nothing  fatigues  him." 

"  I  know  that  my  brother  is  a  great 
warrior,"  the  missionary  answered  : 
"his  exploits  are  numerous,  and  the 
Apaches  fly  on  seeing  him.  Has  my 
brother  met  the  young  men  of  his 
tribe  r» 

"  Spider  has  met  them  :  they  are 
hunting  the  buffalo  on  the  Gila." 

"  \Vas  their  great  chief  Unicorn  with 
them  i" 

"  Unicorn  was  with  his  warriors." 

"  Good  !  my  brother  has  the  eye  of 
a  tiger-cat  :  nothing  escapes  him.  Did 
he  meet  the  great  pale-face  hunter  ?" 

"Spider  smoked  the  calumet  with 
Koutonepi  ar.d  several  warriors,  friends 
of  the  pale  hunter,  assembled  round  his 
*ire." 

"  Did  my  brother  speak  with  Kou 
tonepi  ?"  the  priest  asked. 

"  Yes,  Koutonepi  is  glad  at  the  re 
turn  of  the  father  of  prayer,  whom  he 
did  not  hope  to  see  again.  When  the 
walkon  has  sung  for  the  second  time, 
Koutonepi  will  be  near  my  lather  with 
his  comrades." 

"  My  brother  is  a  wise  and  skillful 
warrior  :  1  thank  him  for  the  way  in 
which  he  has  carried  out  the  mission 


with  which  he  was  entrusted,  a  mission 
which  no  other  warrior  would  have  per 
formed  with  so  much  prudence'  and 
tact." 

At  this  well-dressed  compliment,  a 
smile  of  joy  and  pride  played  round 
the  Indian's  lips,  who  withdrew  after 
respectfully  kissing  the  missionary's 
hand.  Father  Seraphin  then  turned  to 
Madame  Guillois,  who  anxiously  await 
ed  the  result  of  this  conversation,  try 
ing  to  read  in  the  priest's  looks  what 
she  had  to  hope  or  fear.  lie  took  her 
hand,  pressed  it  gently,  and  said  to  her 
with  that  sympathetic  accent  which  he 
possessed  in  the  highest  degree  : 

"  Your  son  is  coining,  you  will  soon 
see  him  :  he  will  be  here  this  night, 
within  two  hours  at  the  most." 

"  Oh !"  she  said  with  an  accent  im 
possible  to  render  j  "Goo!  be  bless 
ed!" 

And,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  she 
burst  into  tears.  The  missionary  watch 
ed  her  anxiously,  ready  to  help  her  if 
her  extreme  emotion  caused  her  to 
break  down.  After  a  few  moments  she 
rose  smiling  through  her  tears,  and 
took  her  place  again  by  the  priest's 
side. 

"  Oh  !"  she  said  eagerly,  "  he  is  my 
son,  the  only  being  I  ever  loved  ;  the 
child  I  nursed  at  my  breast,  and  I  am 
going  to  see  him  again  !  Alas  !  we  have 
been  seperated  for  ten  years — for  ten 
years  the  mark  of  my  kisses  has  been 
effaced  from  his  forehead.  You  cannot 
understand  what  I  feel,  father — it  can 
not  be  explained  ;  to  a  mother  her  child 
is  everything." 

"  Do  not  let  your  emotion  over 
power  you." 

"Then,  he  is  conning?"  she  repeated 
eagerly. 

"  In  two  hours  at  the  most." 

"  What  a  long  time  two  hours  are  !' 
she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  Oh  !  all  human  creatures  are  like 
that,"  the  missionary  exclaimed.  "You, 
who  waited  so  many  years  without 
complaining,  now  find  two  hours  too 
long/' 

"  But  I  am  waiting  for  my  son,  my 
beloved  child  ;  1  cannot  see  him  soon 
enough." 

"  Come,  calm  yourself,  you  are  quite 
in  a  fever." 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


"  Oh  !  fear  nothing,  father,  joy  never 
kills.  The  sight  of  my  son  will  restore 
my  health,  I  feel  sure." 

"  Poor  mother !"  the  priest  could 
not  refrain  from  saying. 

"Am  1  not?"  she  said.  "Oh,  it  is 
a  terrible  thing,  if  you  but  knew  it,  to 
live  in  these  continued  horrors,  to  have 
only  a  son  who  is  your  joy,  your  de 
light,  and  not  to  know  where  he  is,  or 
what  he  is  doing,  whether  he  is  dead  or 
alive.  The  most  cruel  torture  for  a 
mother  is  this  continual  uncertainty 
of  good  and  evil,  of  hope  and  disappoint 
ment.  You  do  not  understand  this,  you 
can  never  understand  it,  you  men  ;  it 
is  a  sense  wanting  in  you,  and  which  we 
mothers  alone  possess — love  of  our 
children." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  then  she 
went  on  : 

"  Good  heaven !  how  slowly  time 
passes.  Will  not  the  sun  soon  set? 
Which  way  do  you  think  my  son  will 
come,  father  ?  I  should  like  to  see  him 
arrive,  though  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
a  longtime.  I  feel  certain  that  I  shall 
recognize  him  at  once  ;  a  mother  is  not 
mistaken,  look  you,  for  she  does  not 
see  her  ch'ld  with  her  eyes,  but  feels 
him  in  her  eyes." 

The  missionary  led  her  to  the  en 
trance  of  the  cave,  made  her  sit  down, 
placed  himself  by  her  side,  and  said,  as 
he  stretched  out  his  arm  in  a  south 
western  direction  : 

"  Look  over  there,  he  must  come 
that  way." 

"Thanks  !"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  Oh, 
you  are  as  kind  as  you  are  virtuous. 
You  are  good  as  a  saint,  father.  God 
will  reward  you,  but  I  can  only  offer 
you  my  thanks." 

The  missionary  smiled  softly. 

"  I  am  happy,"  he  said,  simply. 

They  looked  out,  the  sun  was  rapidly 
sinking  in  the  horizon  ;  gloom  gradual 
ly  covered  the  ground  ;  objects  were 
confused,  and  it  was  impossible  to  dis 
tinguish  anything,  even  at  a  short  dis 
tance. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  Father  Seraphin  said, 
"  the  night  chill  might  strike  you." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  "I  feel  noth 
ing." 


"  Besides,"  he  went  on,  "  the  gloom 
is  so  dense  that  you  cannot  see  him." 

"That  is  true,"  she  said,  fervently, 
"  but  I  shall  hear  him." 

There  was  no  reply  possible  to  thte. 
Father  Seraphiu  took  his  seat  again  by 
her  side. 

"  Forgive  me,  father,"  she  said,  "  but 
joy  renders  me  mad." 

"  You  have  suffered  enough,  poor 
mother,"  he  answered,  kindly,  "  to 
have  the  right  of  enjoying  unmingled 
happiness  this  day.  Do  what  you 
please,  thr-n,  and  have  no  fear  of  caus 
ing  me  pain." 

About  an  hour  elapsed  ere  another 
word  was  uttered  by  them  :  they  were 
listening;  the  night  was  becoming  more 
gloomy,  the  desert  sounds  more  impos 
ing,  the  evening  breeze  had  risen,  and 
groaned  hoarsely  through  the  quebrada*, 
\v\th  a  melancholy  and  prolonged  sound. 
Suddenly  Madame  Guillois  sprang  up 
with  flashing  eye,  and  seized  the  mis 
sionary's  hand. 

"  Here  he  is,"  she  said,  hoarsely. 

Father  Seraphin  raised  his  head. 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  he  replied. 

"  Ah !"  the  mother  said,  with  an  ac 
cent  that  came  from  her  heart,  "  1  am 
not  mistaken — it  is  he !  listen,  listen 
again." 

Father  Seraphin  listened  with  greater 
attention,  and,  in  fact,  a  scarcely  per 
ceptible  sound  could  be  heard  on  the 
prairie,  resembling  the  prolonging  roar 
ing  of  distant  thunder.  The  noise  be 
came  gradually  louder,  and  it  was  pre 
sently  easy  to  distinguish  the  gallop  of 
several  horses  coming1  up  at  full  speed. 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  "  was  it 
fancy  ?  Oh  !  a  mother's  heart  is  never 
mistaken." 

"  You  are  right,  madam ;  in  a  few- 
minutes  he  will  be  by  your  side." 

"  Yes,"  she  muttered,  in  a  panting 
voice. 

That  wras  all  she  could  say — joy  was 
stifling  her. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,"  the  missionary- 
exclaimed,  in  alarm,  "  take  care  !  this 
emotion  is  too  great  for  you  ;  you  are 
killing  yourself.'1 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  careless 
gesture,  full  of  inexpressible  happiness. 


84 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"What  matter]"  she  said;  "I  am 
happy — oh,  very  happy  at  this  mo 
ment." 

The  horsemen  entered  the  defile,  and 
the  gallop  of  their  horses  grew  very 
loud. 

"  Dismount,  gentlemen,"  a  powerful 
voice  shouted,  "  we  have  arrived." 

"  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he  !"  she  said,  with  a 
movement  as  if  going  to  rush  forward  ; 
"  it  was  he  who  spoke — I  recognized  his 
voice." 

The  missionary  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"  What  are  you  about?"  he  exclaim 
ed,  "you  will  kill  yourself!" 

"  Pardon  me,  father,  pardon  me  !  but 
on  hearing  him  speak,  I  know  not  what 
emotion  I  felt;  I  was  no  longer  mis 
tress  of  myself,  but  rushed  forward." 

"A  little  patience,  he  is  coming  up  ; 
in  five  minutes  he  will  be  in  your 
arms." 

She  started  back  hurriedly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  so,  not  so,  the 
recognition  would  be  too  hurried;  let 
me  enjoy  my  happiness  without  losing 
a  morsel.  I  wish  him  to  find  me  out  as 
1  did  him." 

And  she  hurriedly  dragged  Father 
Seraphin  into  the  grotto. 

"  It  is  Heaven  that  inspires  you,"  he 
said;  "  yes,  this  recognition  would  be 
too  abrupt — it  would  kill  you  both." 

"  I  was  right,  father,  was  I  not  ?  oh, 
you  will  see — you  will  see.  Hide  me 
at  some  spot  where  I  can  see  and  hear 
everything  unnoticed  ;  make  haste, 
here  he  is." 

The  cavern,  as  we  have  said,  was 
divided  into  a  number  of  cells,  each 
communicating  with  the  other;  Fath 
er  Seraphin  concealed  Madame  Guil 
lois  in  one  of  these,  whose  walls  were 
formed  of  stalactites,  that  had  assum 
ed  the  strangest  forms.  After  hob 
bling  their  horse,  the  hunters  climbed 
the  mountain.  While  coming  up, 
they  could  be  heard  talking  together; 
the  sound  of  their  voices  distinctly 
reached  the  inhabitants  of  the  grotto, 
who  listened  greedily  to  the  words 
they  uttered. 

"  That  poor  Father  Seraphin,"  Val 
entine  said  ;  "  I  do  not  know  if  you 
are  like  myself,  caballero.s,  but  I  am 


delighted  at  seeing  him  again.  I  fear 
ed  lest  he  had  left  us  forever." 

"  It  is  a  great  consolation  for  me  in 
my  grief,"  said  Don  Miguel,  "  to  know 
him  so  near  us ;  that  man  is  a  true 
apostle." 

"What  is  the  matter,  Valentine?" 
General  Ibanez  suddenly  asked  ;  "  why 
do  you  stop  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  the  latter  replied, 
in  a  hesitating  voice,  "something  is 
taking  place  in  me  which  I  cannot  ex 
plain.  When  Spider  told  me  to-day 
of  the  father's  arrival,  I  felt  a  strangd 
contraction  of  the  heart;  now  it  is  af 
fecting  me  again,  though  I  cannot  say 
for  what  reason." 

"  My  friend,  it  is  the  joy  you  feel  at 
seeing  Father  Seraphin  again,  that  is 
all." 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  that,  but 
something  else  ;  what  I  feel  is  not  na 
tural  :  my  chest  is  oppressed,  I  am 
choking,  what  can  be  happening  ?" 

His  friends  anxiously  collected  round 
him. 

"  Let  me  go  on,"  he  said,  rescRitely  ; 
"  if  1  have  bad  news  to  hear,  it  is  bet 
ter  to  do  so  at  once." 

And,  in  spite  of  the  exhortations  of 
his  friends,  who  were  alarmed  at  seeing 
him  in  this  state,  he  began  running  up 
the  mountain  side.  He  soon  reached 
the  platform,  when  he  stopped  to  take 
breath. 

"  Come  on  !"  he  said. 

•He  boldly  entered  the  cavern,  fol 
lowed  by  his  friends,  but  at  the  mo 
ment  he  went  in,  he  heard  his  name 
called  ;  at  the  sound  of  this  voice  the 
hunter  started  ;  he  turned  pale  and 
trembled,  and  a  cold  perspiration  cov 
ered  his  face. 

"  Oh,"  he  murmured,  "  who  calls  me 
thus  ?" 

"  Valentine  !  Valentine  !"  the  soft 
voice  repeated. 

The  hunter  hesitated  and  bent  his 
body  forward,  his  face  assumed  an  in 
describable  look  of  joy  and  alarm. 

"  Again  !  again  !"  he  said,  in  an  in 
distinct  voice,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on 
his  heart  to  check  its  beating. 

"  Valentine  !''  the  voice  repeated. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


This  time  Valentine  bounded  forward 
like  a  lion. 

"  My  mother !"  he  cried  ;  "  my 
mother,  here  I  am  !" 

"  Ah,  I  felt  certain  he  would  recog 
nize  me,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  rushed 
into  his  arms. 

The  hunter  pressed  her  to  his  bosom 
with  a  sort  of  frenzy  ;  the  poor  wo 
man  lavished  her  caresses  on  him,  cry 
ing  and  half  mad  with  joy  and  terror  at 
seeing  him  in  this  state.  She  repeated 
the  experiment  she  had  made.  He 
kissed  her  face,  with  her  white  locks, 
unable  to  utter  a  word.  At  length  a 
hoarse  groan  burst  from  his  chest,  he 
breathed  faintly,  and  he  melted  into 
tears,  saying,  in  an  accent  of  indescrib 
able  tenderness : 

"  My  mother  !  oh,  my  mother  !" 

These  were  the  only  words  he  could 
find. 

Valentine  laughed  and  wept  at  once  ; 
as  he  sat  on  a  rock,  holding  his  mother 
on  his  knees,  he  embraced  her  with  de 
lirious  joy,  and  was  never  wearied  of 
kissing  her  white  hair,  her  pale  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes,  which  had  shed  so  many 
tears. 

The  spectators  of  the  scene,  affected 
by  this  true  and  simple  affection,  wept 
silently  round  the  mother  and  son. 
Curumilla,  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the 
cave,  was  looking  fixedly  at  the  hunter, 
while  two  tears  slowly  glided  down  his 
bronzed  cheeks. 

When  the  first  emotion  was  slightly 
calmed,  Father  Seraphin,  who  had  till 
then  kept  aloof,  not  to  trouble  the  glo 
rious  outpourings  of  this  interview, 
stepped  forward,  and  said  in  a  gently 
imperious  voice,  as  he  held  up  the  sim 
ple  copper  crucifix  in  his  right  hand  : 

"  My  children,  let  us  return  thanks 
to  the  Saviour  for  His  infinite  good 
ness." 

The  backwoodsmen  knelt  down  and 
prayed. 


CHAPTER,  XVIII. 

THE     CONSULTATION. 

A  MAN  must  have  lived  a  long  time 
apart  from  beings  he  loves,  separated 
from  them  by  immeasurable  distances, 


without  hope  of  ever  seeing  them  again, 
in  order  to  understand  the  sweet  and 
yet  painful  emotions  Valentine  expe 
rienced  on  seeing  his  mother  again. 
We,  the  greater  part  of  whose  life  has 
been  spent  in  the  deserts  of  the  New- 
World,  amid  the  savage  hordes  that 
occupy  them,  speaking  languages  hav 
ing  no  affinity  with  our  own,  forced  in 
to  habits  not  at  all  agreeing  with  those 
of  our  country — we  can  remember  the 
tender  feelings  that  assailed  us  when 
ever  a  straying  traveller  uttered  in  our 
presence  that  sacred  name  of  France  so 
dear  to  our  heart. 

Exile  is  worse  than  death ;  it  is  an 
ever  bleeding  wound,  which  time,  in 
lieu  of  c  catrising,  only  increases  every 
hour,  every  minute,  and  changes  at 
length  into  such  a  craving  to  breathe 
one's  native  air,  were  it  only  for  a  day, 
that  exile  contracts  that  terrible  and  in 
curable  disease  to  which  physicians  give 
the  name  of  nostalgia.  The  moment 
comes  when  a  man,  remote  from  his 
country,  feels  an  invincible  desire  to  see 
his  country  again,  and  hear  his  language 
again ;  neither  fortune  nor  honors  can 
contend  against  the  feeling. 

Valentine,  during  the  many  years  he 
had  spent  in  traversing  the  desert,  had 
always  had  this  memory  of  his  country 
present  to  his  mind.  During  his  con 
versations  with  Father  Seraphin  he  had 
spoken  to  him  of  his  mother,  that  good 
and  holy  woman  whom  he  never  hoped 
to  see  again,  for  he  had  given  up  all 
thoughts  of  returning  home  for  a  long 
time  past.  The  feverish  existence  of 
the  desert  had  so  seduced  him,  that  k 
every  other  consideration  yielded  to  it, 
especially  after  the  misfortunes  of  his 
early  youth  and  the  wounds  of  his  only 
love.  When,  therefore,  he  saw  him 
self  reunited  to  his  mother,  and  under 
stood  they  would  never  separate  again, 
an  immense  joy  occupied  his  mind. 

The  entire  night  passed  away  like  an 
hour  in  delicious  conversation ;  the 
hunters  collected  round  the  fire,  listen 
ed  to  mother  and  son  describing  with 
that  accent  that  comes  from  the  heart 
the  various  incidents  of  their  life  during 
;he  long  conversation.  A  few  minutes 
before  sunrise,  Valentine  insisted  on  his 
mother  taking  rest  ;  he  feared  lest,  at 


86 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


her  advanced  age,  after  the  piercing 
emotions  of  such  a  day,  such  a  length 
ened  absence  of  sleep  might  injure  her 
health.  After  various  objections,  Ma 
dame  Guillois  at  length  yielded  to  her 
son's  wishes,  and  retired  to  a  remote 
compartment  of  the  grotto. 

When  Valentine  supposed  his  moth 
er  asleep,  he  made  his  friends  a  sign  to 
sit  down  near  him  ;  the  latter,  suspect 
ing  that  he  had  a  serious  communication 
to  make  to  them,  silently  obeyed.  Val 
entine  walked  up  and  down  the  cavern 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back  and 
frowning  brow. 

"  Caballeros,"  he  said,  in  a  stern  voice, 
"  day  is  about  to  break,  it  is  too  late 
for  any  of  us  to  think  about  sleep,  so 
be  good  enough  to  aid  me  with  your 
counsels." 

"  Speak,  my  friend,"  Father  Seraphin 
replied,  "  you  know  that  we  are  devot 
ed  to  you." 

"  I  know  it,  and  you  more  than  any 
one  else,  father — hence  I  shall  be  for 
ever  grateful  to  you  for  the  immense 
service  you  have  rendered  me.  You 
know  I  forget  nothing,  and  when  the 
moment  arrives,  be  assured  that  1  shall 
pay  my  debt  to  you." 

"  Do  not  speak  about  that,  friend  ; 
I  knew  the  intense  desire  you  had  to 
see  your  mother  again,  and  the  anxiety 
that  tortured  you  on  the  subject  of  that 
cruel  seperation  ;  I  only  acted  as  any 
one  else  would  have  done  in  my  place, 
so  dismiss  the  affair,  I  beg ;  I  desire 
no  other  reward  than  to  see  you  hap- 
Py.» 

"  I  am  so,  my  friend,"  the  hunter  ex 
claimed,  with  emotion  ;  "  I  am  more  so 
than  I  can  say,  but  it  is  that  very  hap 
piness  which  terrifies  me.  My  mother 
is  near  me,  'tis  true,  but,  alas  !  you 
know  the  life  to  which  a  desert  exis 
tence,  made  up  of  fighting  and  priva 
tion,  condemns  us  ;  at  this  moment 
especially,  when  following  out  our  im 
placable  revenge,  ought  1  to  make  my 
mother,  a  woman  of  great  age  and 
weak  health,  share  the  changes  and  dan 
gers  of  that  life?  Can  we,  without 
cruelty,  compel  her  to  follow  us  on  the 
trail  of  the  villain  we  are  pursuing? 
No,  not  one  of  you,  I  feel  convinced, 
•would  give  me  that  advice ;  but  what 


is  to  be  done  ?  My  mother  cannot  re 
main  alone  in  this  cavern  abandoned, 
far  from  all  help,  and  exposed  to  num 
berless  privations.  We  know  not 
whither  the  duty  we  have  sworn  to  ac 
complish  may  drag  us  to-morrow.  On 
the  other  hand,  will  my  mother,  so  hap 
py  at  our  meeting,  consent  so  prompt 
ly  to  even  a  temporary  seperation — a 
seperation  which  circumstances  may 
indefinitely  prolong?  I  therefore  beg 
you  all,  my  only  and  true  friends,  to 
advise  me,  for  I  confess  that  I  know 
not  what  resolution  to  form.  Speak, 
my  friends,  tell  me  what  1  should  do." 

There  was  a  lengthened  silence  among 
the  hunters.  Each  understood  Valen 
tine's  embarrassment,  but  the  remedy 
was  very  difficult  to  find,  as  all  were  in 
their  hearts  made  rest  by  the  thought 
of  pursuing  Red  Cedar  closely,  and  not 
giving  him  respite  until  he  had  been  pun 
ished  for  all  his  crimes.  As  usual  un 
der  such  circumstances,  egotism  and 
private  interests  took  the  place  of 
friendship.  Father  Seraphin,  the  only 
disinterested  person,  saw  clearly,  hence 
he  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  My  friend,"  he  answered,  "  all  you 
have  said  is  most  just  ;  I  undertake  to 
make  your  mother  listen  to  reason  ;  she 
will  understand,  I  feel  assured,  how  ur 
gent  it  is  for  her  to  return  to  civilization, 
especially  at  the  present  period  of  the 
year;  still,  we  must  spare  her  feelings, 
and  lead  her  back  quietly  to  Mexico, 
without  letting  her  suspect  the  sepera 
tion  she  fears,  and  you  fear  too.  Dur 
ing  the  journey  hence  to  the  civilized 
frontier,  we  will  strive  to  prepare  her 
for  it,  so  that  the  blow  may  not  be  so 
rude  when  the  moment  for  parting  ar 
rives.  That  is  the  only  thing,  I  believe, 
you  can  do  under  the  present  circum 
stances.  Come  reflect  ;  if  you  have  any 
plan  better  than  mine,  I  will  be  the  first 
to  submit." 

"  That  advice  is  really  the  best  that 
can  be  given  me,"  Valentine  said, 
warmly  ;  "  hence  I  eagerly  adopt  it. 
You  will  consent  then,  father,  to  accom 
pany  us  to  the  frontier?" 

"  Of  course,  my  friend,  and  further, 
were  it  necessary.  Hence,  do  not  let 
that  trouble  you  ;  all  we  have  now  to 
decide  is  our  road  " 


TI1E     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"That  is  true,"  said  Valentine  ;  "  but 
here  lies  the  difficulty.  We  must  lodge 
my  mother  at  a  clearing  near  enough 
for  me  to  see  her  frequently,  and  yet 
sufficiently  distant  from  the  desert  to 
guard  her  against  any  danger." 

"I  fancy,"  Don  Miguel  remarked, 
"  that  my  hacienda,  at  the  Paso  del 
Norte,  will  suit  admirably  ;  the  more 
so,  as  it  offers  your  mother  all  the  guar 
antees  of  security  and  comfort  you  can 
require  for  her." 

"  In    truth,"     Valentine     exclaimed, 
"  she  would  be  most  comfortable  there, 
and  I  thank  you  cordially  for  your  ofter. 
Unfortunately,  I  cannot  accept  it." 
"  Why  not  ?" 

"  For  a  reason  you  will  appreciate  as 
well  as  I  do  ;  it  is  much  too  far  off." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

Valentine  could  not  repress  a  smile 
at  this  question. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said  quietly  to  him, 
"  since  you  have  been  in  the  desert,  cir 
cumstances  have  forced  you  to  take  so 
many  turns  and  twists,  that  you  have 
completely  lost  all  idea  of  distances, 
and  do  not  suspect,  I  feel  assured,  how 
many  miles  we  are  from  the  Paso." 

"  1  confess  I  do  not,"  Don  Miguel  said 
in  surprise.     "  Still,  I  fancy  we  cannot 
be  very  far." 
"  Make  a  guess." 

"  Well,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles, 
at  the  most." 

"  My  poor  friend,"  Valentine  remark 
ed,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  you 
are  out  of  your  reckoning  ;  we  are  more 
than  seven  hundred  miles  from  the  Pa 
so  del  Norte,  which  is  the  extreme  lim 
it  of  the  civilized  settlements." 

"  The  deuce!"  the  haciendero  exclaim 
ed,  "  I  did  not  fancy  we  had  gone  so 
far." 

"  And,"  Valentine  went  on,   "  from 
that  town  to  your  hacienda   is  a  dis 
tance  of  about  fifty  miles." 
"  Yes,  about  that." 
"  You  see,  then,  that,  to  my  great  re 
gret,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  accept 
your  generous  offer." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  T  General 
Ibanez  asked. 

"  It  is  awkward,"  Valentine  replied, 
"  for  time  presses." 


"  And  your  mother  cannot  possibly 
remain  here;  that  is  quite  decided," 
Don  Miguel  objected. 

Curuiuilla  had  hitherto  listened  to 
the  talk  in  his  usual  way,  not  saying 
a  word.  Seeing  that  the  hunters  could 
not  agree,  he  turned  to  Valentine. 

"  A  friend  would  speak,"  he  said. 

All  looked  at  him,  for  the  hunters 
knew  that  Cururnilla  never  spoke  save 
to  give  advice,  which  was  generally  fol 
lowed.  Valentine  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 

"  Our  ears  are  open,  chief,"  he  said. 

Cururnilla  rose. 

"Koutonepi  forgets,"  he  quietly  re 
marked. 

"  What  do  I  forget  ?"  the  hunter 
asked. 

"  Koutonepi  is  the  brother  of  Uni 
corn,  the  great  Comanche  Sachem." 

Valentine  struck  his  forehead  in  his 
delight. 

"  That  is  true,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  what 
was  I  thinking  about?  On  my  honor, 
chief,  you  are  our  Providence :  nothing 
escapes  you." 

"  Is  my  brother  satisfied  ?"  the  chief 
asked  joyously. 

Valentine  pressed   his  hand  warmly. 

"  Chief,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  the 
best  fellow  I  know  ;  I  thank  you  from 
my  heart:  however,  we  understand 
each  other,  I  think,  and  need  say  noth 
ing  about  that." 

The  Araucano  Ulmen  warmly  return 
ed  his  friend's  pressure,  and  sat  down, 
merely  muttering  one  word,  which  con 
tained  all  his  impressions  : 

"  Good." 

The  other  persons,  however,  had  not 
understood  this  little  scene.  Although 
they  had  been  living  for  a  long  time  in 
the  company  of  the  Aucas,  they  had 
not  yet  grown  accustomed  to  his  silence 
or  learned  to  translate  it ;  they  there- 
bre  anxiously  waited  till  Valentine 
jave  them  the  explanation  of  the  few 
sentences  he  had  exchanged  with  his 
"riend. 

"  The  chief,"  Valentine  said  quickly, 
'  has  found  at  once  what  we  have  been 
racking  our  brains  in  vain  to  discover." 

"  How  so  ?  explain,"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  What,  you  do  not  understand  ?" 

"  On  my  honor  I  do  not." 


88 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"Yet  it  is  very  simple  ;  I  have  been 
for  a  long  time  an  adopted  son  of  the 
Comanches ;  I  belong  to  Unicorn's 
tribe;  that  chief  will  not  refuse,  1  feel 
sure,  to  shelter  my  mother  at  his  vil 
lage.  The  redskins  love  me ;  Unicorn 
is  devoted  to  me ;  my  mother  will  be 
nursed  and  kindly  treated  by  the  In 
dians,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  will 
be  easy  for  me  to  see  her  whenever  I 
hare  a  moment  to  spare." 

"  Canarios  /"  General  Ibanez  ex 
claimed,  "  on  my  honor,  chief,"  he  ad 
ded,  as  he  gaily  tapped  the  Araucani- 
an's  shoulder,  "  I  must  allow  that  we 
are  all  asses,  and  that  you  have  more 
sense  in  your  little  finger  than  we  have 
in  our  whole  body." 

This  discussion  had  lasted  some  time, 
and  the  sun  had  risen  for  nearly  an 
hour,  when  it  terminated.  Madame 
Guillois,  entirely  recovered  from  the 
emotions  of  the  night,  appeared  in  the 
grotto  and  kissed  her  son.  When 
breakfast  was  over,  the  horses  were  sad 
dled,  and  they  set  out. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  to,  my 
son  T'  the  mother  asked  the  hunter ; 
"  you  know  that  henceforth  I  belong 
entirely  to  you,  and  you  alone  have 
the  right  to  watch  over  me." 

"Be  at  your  ease,  mother,"  Valen 
tine  answered  ;  "  although  we  are  in 
the  desert,  I  have  found  you  a  retreat 
in  which  you  will  not  only  be  protect 
ed  from  every  danger,  but  where  it  will 
be  possible  for  me  to  see  you  at  least 
once  a  week." 

Valentine,  like  all  men  endowed  with 
a  firm  and  resolute  character,  instead 
of  turning  the  difficulty,  had  preferred 
to  attack  it  in  front,  persuaded  that  the 
harder  the  blow  he  dealt  was,  the  short 
er  time  its  effect  would  last,  and  he 
should  be  enabled  to  lessen  its  conse 
quences  more  easily.  The  old  lady 
stopped  her  horse  instinctively  and 
looked  at  her  son  with  tear-laden  eyes. 

"What  do  you  say,  Valentine?"  she 
asked  in  a  trembling  voice ;  "are  you 
going  to  leave  me  ?'' 

"  You  do  not  quite  understand  me, 
mother,"  he  replied  ;  "  after  so  long  a 
separation  I  could  not  consent  to  keep 
away  from  you." 

"  Alas !"  she  murmured. 


"  Still,  my  dear  mother,"  he  contin 
ued  stoically,  "you  will  have  to  con 
vince  yourself  of  one  fact,  that  desert 
life  is  very  different  from  civilized  life." 

"  1  know  it,  already,"  she  said  sighing. 

"  Very  good,"  he  continued  ;  "  this 
life  has  claims  which  it  would  take  too 
long  to  explain  to" yon,  and  necessitate 
constant  marches  and  counter  inarches, 
going  at  one. moment  here,  at  another 
there,  without  apparent  reason,  living 
from  hand  to  mouth,  and  eternally  on 
horseback." 

"  Come,  my  boy,  do  not  make  me 
suffer  longer,  but  tell  me  at  once  what 
you  wish  to  arrive  at." 

"  At  this,  mother,  that  this  life  of 
unending  fatigue  and  danger  may  be 
very  agreeable  to  a  young  man  like 
myself,  endowed  with  an  iron  constitu 
tion,  and  long  accustomed  to  its  inci 
dents  ;  but  that  it  is  materially  impos 
sible  for  you,  at  your  age,  weak  and 
sickly  as  you  are :  now  you  are  my  en.- 
ly  comfort  and  treasure,  mother;  I 
have  found  you  again  by  a  miracle,  and 
am  determined  to  keep  you  as  long  as 
possible.  For  that  reason  I  must  not 
expose  you  through  an  improper  weak 
ness,  to  fatigues  and  privations  which 
would  kill  you  in  a  week." 

"  Well,  then  V  asked  the  mother  tim 
idly,  involuntarily  conquered  by  her 
son's  peremptory  accent. 

"  Tin's  is  what  1  have  resolved,"  said 
he  insinuatingly,  "as  I  do  not  wish  you 
to  suffer  ;  we  must  be  together  as  much 
as  we  can,  if  not  always." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  only  ask  to 
see  you  ever,  my  child  ;  what  do  I  care 
for  aught  else,  provided  1  am  near  you, 
can  console  you  in  sorrow,  and  rejoice 
in  your  joy  !" 

"Mother,"  the  hunter  said,  "I  be 
lieve  1  have  arranged  matters  as  well 
as  possible.  Father  Seraphin  will  tell 
you  any  other  plan  would  be  futile." 

"  Let  me  hear  it,"  she  murmured. 

"  1  am  taking  you  to  the  village  of 
the  Comanches,  whose  adopted  son  I 
am  ;  their  chief  loves  me  as  a  brother; 
the  village  is  only  a  few  leagues  off,  and 
you  will  be  there  among  friends,  who 
will  respect  you  and  pay  you  the  great 
est  attention." 

"  But  you,  my  child  ?" 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


£9 


''  I  will  visit  you  as  often  as  I  can 
and,  believe  me,  few  days  will  pas 
without  my  seeing  you." 

"  Alas  !  my  poor  child,  why  insist  or 
leading  this  life  of  danger  and  fatigue ' 
If  you  liked,  we  could  be  so  happy  in  { 
little  village  at  home.  Have  you  for 
gotten  France  entirely,  Valentine?" 
The  hunter  sighed. 
"  No,  mother,"  he  said,  with  an 
effort,  "  since  I  have  seen  you  again,  al" 
the  memories  of  my  youth  have  re 
vired  ;  I  know  now  the  desire  1  had  to 
see  France  again  some  day  ;  the  sight 
of  you  has  made  me  understand  that  a 
man  cannot  voluntarily  resign  those 
home-joys,  whose  char-m  he  can  only 
truly  understand  when  unable  to  enjoy 
them.  Hence  1  soon  intend  to  remove 
you  from  this  country  disinherited  by 
Heaven,  and  return  to  our  native  land.' 
"  Alas  !"  she  said,  with  an  accent  of 
soft  reproach,  "  we  should  be  so  happy 
there  ;  why  not  return  at  once  ?" 

"  Because  it  cannot  be,  mother ;  ] 
have  a  sacred  duty  to  accomplish  here ; 
but  I  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
when  I  have  fulfilled  the  duty  I  have 
imposed  on  myself  and  am  free,  we  will 
not  remain  an  hour  longer  here.  S( 
have  patience,  mother ;  perhaps  we 
may  start  for  France  within  two 
months." 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it,  my  child," 
the  old  lady  said,  sadly ;  "  well,  your 
will  be  done,  I  am  prepared  to  wait." 

"Thanks,  mother;  your  kindness 
renders  me  happier  than  I  can  describe 
to  you." 

The  old  lady  sighed,  but  gave  no  an 
swer,  and  the  little  party  marched  si 
lently  in  the  direction  of  the  Comanche 
village,  the  outskirts  of  which  they 
reached  at  about  three  in  the  afternoon. 
"  Mother,"  Valentine  said,  "  you  are 
not  yet  used  to  Indian  fashions;  do  not 
be  frightened  at  anything  you  may  see 
or  hear." 

"  Am  I  not  near  you  ?"  she  said 
"  what  can  I  feel  afraid  of?" 

"Oh!"  he  said,  joyfully,  "you  area 
true  mother." 

"  Alas  !"  she  answered,  with  a  stifled 
sigh,  "you  are  mistaken,  child,  I  am 
only  a  poor  old  woman,  who  loves  her 
sou,  that  is  all." 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

BLOODSON. 

WHITE  GAZELLE  had  rejoined  Blood- 
son,  who  was  encamped  with  his  band 
on  the  top  of  a  hill,  where  the  prairie 
could  be  surveyed  for  a  long  distance. 

It  was  night,  the  fires  were  already 
lit,  and  the  rangers,  assembled  around 
the  brazeros,  were  supping  gaily. 
Bloodson  was  delighted  at  seeing  his 
niece  again ;  both  had  a  long  conversa 
tion,  at  the  end  of  which  the  Avenger, 
as  he  called  himself,  ordered  the  ran- 
chero  to  approach. 

Despite  of  all  his  impudence,  it  was 
not  without  a  feeling  of  terror  that 
worthy  Andres  Garote  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  this  man,  whose  glances 
seemed  trying  to  read  his  inmost 
thoughts.  Bioodson's  reputation  had 
been  so  long  established  on  the  prairies 
that  the  ranchero  must  feel  uff  cted  in 
his  presence.  Bloodson  was  seated  in 
front  of  a  fire,  smoking  an  Indian  pipe, 
with  White  Gazelle  by  his  side;  and 
for  a  moment  the  ranchero  almost  re 
pented  the  step  he  had  taken.  But  the 
feeling  did  not  last  an  instant ;  hatred 
immediately  regained  the  upper  hand, 
and  every  trace  of  emotion  disappeared 
from  his  face. 

"  Come  here,  scoundrel,"  Bloodson 
said  to  him.  "  From  what  the  senora 
has  just  said  to  me,  you  fancy  you  have 
in  your  hands  the  means  of  destroying 
Red  Cedar1?" 

"Did   I   say  Red   Cedar?"  the  ran- 
herp  answered ;  "  I  do  not   think  so, 
excellency." 

"  Whom  did  you  allude  to,  then?" 

"To  Fray  Ambrosio." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  that  scurvy 
monk  ?"  Bloodson  remarked,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders;  "his  affairs 
do  not  concern  me,  and  I  will  not 
rouble  myself  witli  thorn;  other  and 
more-  important  duties  claim  my  care." 

"That  is  possible,  Excellency,"  the 
ranchero  answered,  with  more  as 
surance  than  might  have  been  assumed  ; 
'  but  1  have  only  to  deal  with  Fray 
Ambrosio." 

"  In  that   case    you   can  go   to   the 


90 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


deuce,  for  I  shall  certainly  not  help  you 
iu  your  plans." 

Andres  Garote,  thus  brutally  receiv 
ed,  was  not  discouraged,  however ;  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  cunning 
look,  and  assumed  his  most  insinuating 
tone. 

"  There  is  no  knowing,  Excellency," 
he  said. 

"  Hum  !  that  seems  to  me  difficult." 

"  Less  so  than  you  fancy,  Excel 
lency/' 

"  How  so  1" 

"  You  bear  a  grudge  against'  Red 
Cedar,  I  think  V 

"  How  does  that  concern  you,  scoun 
drel  T'  Bloodson  asked,  roughly. 

"  Not  at  all ;  the  more  so  as  I  owe 
him  nothing ;  still,  it  is  a  different  af 
fair  with  you,  Excellency." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"I  presume  so^  Excellency ;  hence  I 
intend  to  offer  you  a  bargain." 

"  A  bargain  !"  Bloodson  repeated, 
disdainfully. 

"Yes,  Excellency,"  the  ranchero 
said,  boldly ;  "  and  a  bargain  advan 
tageous  to  yourself,  I  venture  to  say." 

"  And  for  you  ?" 

"  For  me  too,  naturally." 

Bloodson  began  laughing. 

"  The  man  is  mad,"  he  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and,  turning  to 
his  men,  added  :  "  where  the  deuce  was 
your  head  when  you  brought  him  to 
me  ?" 

"  Nonsense,"  White  Gazelle  said, 
"  you  had  better  listen  to  him ;  that 
will  do  you  no  harm." 

"  The  senora  is  right,"  the  ranchero 
eagerly  replied  ;  "  listen  to  me,  Excel 
lency,  that  pledges  you  to  nothing ; 
besides,  you  will  be  always  able  to  de 
cline  if  what  I  propose  does  not  suit 
you." 

"That  is  true,"  Bloodson  replied, 
contemptuously — "  Speak  then,  pica- 
ro,  and  be  brief." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  mak 
ing  long  speeches." 

"  Come  to  the  point." 

"  It  is  this,"  the  ranchero  said,  bold 
ly  ;  "  you  wish,  I  do  not  know  why, 
and  do  not  care,  to  revenge  yourself 
on  Red  Cedar  ;  for  certain  reasons,  un 
necessary  for  me  to  tell  you,  1  wish  to 


avenge  myself  on  Ambrosio  ;  that  is 
clear,  I  fancy  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so — go  on." 

"  Very  well.  Now  this  is  what  I 
propose  to  you — aid  me  to  avenge  my 
self  on  the  monk,  and  I  will  help  you 
with  the  bandit." 

"  I  do  not  need  you  for  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  do,  Excellency ;  and 
if  I  did  not  fear  appearing  impudent  to 
you,  I  would  even  say " 

"  What?" 

"That  I  am  indispensable  to  you." 

"  Voto  a  Dios  /'  Bloodson  said,  with 
an  outburst  of  laughter,  "  this  is  be 
yond  a  joke ;  the  scoundrel  is  abso 
lutely  making  fun  of  me." 

Andres  Garote  stood  unmoved  before 
the  ranger. 

"  Come,  come,"  the  latter  continued, 
"  this  is  far  more  amusing  than  1  at  first 
fancied  ;  and  how  are  you  indispensa 
ble  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  Excellency,  that  is  very  sim 
ple  ;  you  do  not  know  what  has  be 
come  of  Red  Cedar  ?" 

"  That  is  true  ;  I  have  been  seeking 
him  in  vain  for  a  long  time." 

"I  defy  you  to  find  him,  unless  I  help 
you." 

"  Then  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 
Bloodson  exclaimed,  suddenly  raising 
his  head. 

"  Ah  !  that  interests  you  now,  Excel 
lency,''  the  ranchero  said,  with  a  crafty 
look. 

"  Answer,  yes  or  no,"  the  ranger 
said,  roughly  ;  "  do  you  know  where  he 
is?" 

"  If  I  did  not,  should  I  have  come  to 
you  r 

Bloodson  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"Tell  me  where  he  is." 

"  Our  bargain  holds  good  ?" 

"  It  does." 

"  You  swear  it "?" 

"  On  my  honor." 

"  Good  !"  the  other  said  joyfully  ; 
"  now  listen  to  me." 

"  Go  on." 

"  Of  course  you  are  aware  that  Red 
Cedar  and  the  Trail-hunter  had  a  fight?" 

"  I  am — go  on." 

"  After  the  battle,  all  bolted  in  dif 
ferent  directions  ;  Red  Cedar  was  wound 
ed,  hence  he  did  *not  go  far,  but  soon 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


91 


fell  in  a  fainting  fit  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree.  The  Frenchman  and  his  friends 
sought  him  on  all  sides,  and  I  believe 
they  would  have  made  him  spend  a 
very  unpleasant  quarter  of  an  hour  if 
they  had  laid  hands  on  him.  Fortu 
nately  for  him,  his  horse  had  carried 
him  into  the  middle  of  the  virgin  forest, 
where  no  one  dreamed  of  pursuing  him. 
Chance,  or  rather  my  good  fortune,  1 
now  believe,  led  me  to  the  spot  where 
he  was;  his  daughter  Ellen  was 
near  him,  and  paying  him  the  most 
touching  attention ;  it  really  almost 
affected  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  she 
got  there,  but  there  she  was.  On  see 
ing  Red  Cedar,  I  thought  for  a  moment 
about  going  to  find  the  French  hunter, 
and  telling  him  of  my  discovery." 

"  Hum  !  and  why  did  you  not  carry 
out  that  idea,  scoundrel  ?" 

"  For  a  very  simple,  though  conclu 
sive  reason." 

"  Let  us  hear  it,"  said  Bloodson,  who 
had  begun  to  listen  with  extreme  in 
terest  to  the  ranchero's  wandering  state 
ment. 

"  This  is  it,"  he  went  on.  <;  Don 
Valentine  is  a  rough  fellow ;  I  am  not 
in  the  odor  of  sanctity  with  him ;  be 
sides,  he  was  with  a  crowd  of  Apaches 
and  Comanches,  each  a  bigger  scamp 
than  the  other  ;  in  a  word,  1  was  fright 
ened  for  my  scalp,  and  held  off,  as  I 
might  have  plucked  the  chestnuts  from 
the  fire  fur  another  man's  profit." 

"  Not  badly  reasoned." 

"  Was  it  now,  Excellency  ?  hence, 
while  I  was  reflecting  on  what  1  had 
better  do,  a  band  of  some  ten  horsemen 
came,  I  know  not  whence,  to  the  spot 
where  that  poor  devil  of  a  Red  Cedar 
was  lying  half  dead." 

"  lie  was  really  wounded  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  dangerously,  I  under 
take  to  say ;  the  leader  of  the  party 
•was  a  French  missionary  you  must 
know." 

"  Father  Seraphin  ?" 

"  The  very  man," 

"What  did  he?" 

"  What  I  should  certainly  not  have 
done  in  his  place — he  carried  Red  Cedar 
away  with  him." 

"  In  that  I  recognize  him,"  Bloodson 
could  iiot  refrain  from  saying.  "And 


where  did  he  take  the  wounded   man  ?" 

"  To  a  cavern,  where  I  will  lead  you 
whenever  you  like." 

"You  are  not  lying?" 

"Oh,  no,  excellency." 

"  Very  good,  go  and  sleep  ;  you  can 
count  on  my  promise,  if  you  are  faith 
ful  to  me." 

"  Thanks,  excellency  ;  be  at  your 
ease,  self-interest  urges  me  not  to  de 
ceive  you." 

"  That  is  true." 

The  ranchero  withdrew,  and  an  hour 
later  was  sleeping  as  every  honest  man 
should  do  who  feels  conscious  of  having 
performed  his  duty.  The  next  morning 
at  daybreak  JjJloodson's  band  set  out. 
But  in  the  desert  it  is  often  very  diffi 
cult  to  find  those  you  seek,  owing  to 
the  nomadic  life  everybody  is  obliged 
to  lead  in  order  to  gain  his  livelihood  ; 
and  Bloodson,  who  wished  first  to  con 
sult  with  Valentine  and  his  friends,  lost 
much  time  before  learning  the  exact 
spot  where  they  were.  At  length,  one 
of  the  scouts  told  him  thai  the  French 
man  was  at  Unicorn's  winter  village, 
and  he  proceeded  there  at  once.  ' 

In  the  interim,  Bloodson  ordered  An 
dres  Garote  to  watch  Red  Cedar's  move 
ments,  as  he  did  not  like  to  take  a  deci 
sive  step  till  he  had  acquired  a  certainty. 
Nothing  would  have  been  easier  than 
to  go  to  Father  Seraphin,  and  demand 
the  surrender  of  the  wounded  man  ;  but 
he  felt  a  repugnance  to  this.  Bloodson 
shared  in  tlie  respect  the  holy  mission 
ary  inspired  all  with  in  the  Far  West ; 
and  he  would  not  have  dared  to  sum 
mon  him  to  surrender  his  guest,  certain 
as  he  was  beforehand  that  the  other 
would  peremptorily  refuse  ;  at  the  same 
time  he  did  not  like  to  employ  violence 
to  wrest  his  prey  from  a  man  whose 
character  he  admired.  He  must,  there 
fore,  await  until  Red  Cedar,  cured  of 
his  wounds,  quitted  his  protection;  and 
this  Bloodson  did,  though  having  his 
movements  watched. 

At  length  Andres  Garote  appeared, 
all  joyous,  in  Bloodson's  camp;  he  was 
the  bearer  of  excellent  news  :  Father 
Seraphin,  after  curing  Red  Cedar,  had 
installed  him  in  a  jacal,  where  he  and 
his  daughter  lived  like  two  anchorites. 
Bloodsou  uttered  a  shout  of  joy  at  this 


92 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


news.  Without  even  taking  time  to 
reflect,  he  leaped  on  his  horse,  leaving 
the  temporary  command  of  the  band  to 
his  men,  and  started  off  at  full  speed 
for  Unicorn's  village. 

The  distance  was  not  great,  and  the 
ranger  covered  it  in  less  than  two  hours. 
Bloodson  was  beloved  by  the  Coman- 
ches,  to  whom  he  had  frequent  oppor 
tunities  of  being  useful ;  hence  he  was 
received  by  them  with  all  the  honors 
and  ceremonies  employed  in  such  cases. 
Unicorn,  accompanied  by  some  -of  the 
principal  chiefs  of  the  tribe,  came  to  re 
ceive  him  a  short  distance  from  the 
village,  yelling,  firing  their  muskets,  and 
making  their  horses  curret.  Bloodson 
gladly  yielded  to  the  chief's  wishes,  and 
galloped  along  by  his  side. 

The  Comanches  are  excessively  dis 
creet;  they  never  take  the  liberty  of 
asking  questions  of  their  guests  before 
the  latter  authorize  them.  So  soon  as 
Bloodson  had  taken  his  seat  by  the  fire 
of  the  council  lodge,  and  smoked  the 
great  calumet  of  peace,  Unicorn  bowed 
to  him  gravely,  and  took  the  word. 

"  My  pale-face  brother  is  welcome 
among  his  red  friends,"  he  said  ;  "  has 
my  brother  had  a  good  hunt?" 

"  The  buffaloes  are  numerous  near 
the  mountains,"  Bloodson  answered ; 
"  my  young  men  have  killed  many." 

"All  the  better;  my  brother  will 
not  suffer  from  famine." 

The  ranger  bowed  his  thanks. 

"  Will  my  brother  remain  some  days 
with  his  red  friends  ?"  the  chief  again 
11  asked  ;  "  they  would  be  happy  to  have 
him  among  them  for  a  season." 

"  My  hours  are  counted,"  Bloodson 
answered.  '"  I  merely  intended  paying  a 
visit  to  rny  brothers  to  ask  after  their 
fare,  as  I  passed  their  village." 

At  this  moment  Valentine  appeared 
in  the  doorway. 

"  Here  is  my  brother,  Koutonepi," 
Unicorn  said. 

"  He  is  welcome,"  the  ranger  said  ; 
"  I  wished  to  see  him." 

"  What  accident  has  brought  you 
here?"  the  hunter  asked  him. 

"To  tell  you  where  Red  Cedar  is 
hidden  at  this  moment,"  Bloodson  an 
swered,  distinctly. 

Valentine  started,  and  bent  on  him  a 
piercing  glance. 


"  Oh,  oh,"  he  said,  "  that  is  great 
news  you  give  rne." 

"  I  do  not  give  it,  but  sell  it  to  you." 

"  What?  explain  yourself,  pray." 

"I  will  be  brief.  There  is  not  a  man 
on  the  prairies  who  has  not  a  terrible 
account  to  settle  with  that  vile  bandit?" 

"  That  is  true." 

"  The  monster  has  burdened  the 
earth  too  long — he  must  disappear." 

Bloodson  uttered  these  words  with 
such  an  accent  of  hatred,  that  all  pre 
sent,  although  they  were  men  endowed 
with  nerves  of  steel,  felt  a  shudder 
course  through  their  veins. 

Valentine  looked  sternly  at  the  ran 
ger. 

"  You  owe  this  man  a  heavy- 
grudge  ?"  he  said. 

"  Greater  than  I  can  express." 

"  Good,  go  on." 

At  this  moment  Father  Seraphin  en 
tered  the  lodge,  but  was  not  noticed,  so 
greatly  was  the  attention  of  the  audi 
ence  concentrated  on  Bloodson.  The 
missionary  stood  motionless  in  the 
darkest  corner,  and  listened. 

"  This  is  what  I  propose,"  Bloodson 
went  on.  "  I  will  reveal  to  you  where 
the  villain  is  lurking ;  we  will  spread 
so  as  to  envelope  him  in  an  impassable 
circle,  and  if  you  or  the  chiefs  here  pre 
sent  are  luckier  than  I,  and  seize  him, 
you  will  deliver  him  into  my  hands." 

"  What  to  do  with  him?" 

"  To  take  an  exemplary  vengeance 
on  him." 

"  I  cannot  promise  that,"  Valentine 
said  slowly. 

"  For  what  reason  ?" 

"You  have  just  given  it:  there  is 
not  a  man  on  the  prairie  but  has  a  ter 
rible  account  to  settle  with  this  vil 
lain." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  The  man  he  has  most  outraged  is, 
in  my  opinion,  Don  Miguel  de  Zurate, 
whose  daughter  he  so  basely  murdered. 
Don  Miguel  alone  has  the  right  to  deal 
with  him  as  he  thinks  proper." 

Bloodson  gave  a  start  of  disappoint 
ment. 

"  Oh,  were  he  here  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Here  I  am,  sir,"  the  haciendero  re 
plied  as  he  stepped  forward ;  "I  too 
have  vengeance  to  take  on  lied  Cedar; 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


but  I  wish  it  to  be  great  and  noble,  in 
the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  presence 
of  all  :  I  do  not  wish  to  assassinate, 
but  to  punish  him." 

"  Good,"  Bloodson  exclaimed,  sti 
fling  a  cry  of  joy  ;  "  our  thoughts  are 
the  same,  cabaliero ;  for  what  I  de 
sire  is  to  d-  al  with  Red  Cedar,  accord 
ing  to  Lynch  Law,  in  its  entire  rigor,  | 
on  the  very  spot  where  he  committed  ' 
his  first  crime,  and  in  the  sight  of  the 
population  he  has  horrified.  In  the 
Far  West,  I  am  not  only  called  the 
Son  of  Blood,  but  also  the  Avenger 
and  the  judge." 

After  these  words,  spoken  with  fe 
verish  energy,  there  was  a  gloomy  si 
lence  which  lasted  some  time. 

"  Vengeance     is     mine,    saith     the 
Lord,"  a  voice  said,  which  made  the  | 
hearers  start. 

All  turned  round  ;  Father  Seraphin, 
with  his  crucifix  in  his  hand,  and   head  \ 
erect,  seemed  to  command  them  all  by  j 
the  grandeur  of  his  evangelic  mission,    j 

"  By  what  right  do  you  make  your-  \ 
selves    the    instruments   of  divine  jus- ' 
tice  ?"    he    continued.     "  If    this    man 
was  guilty,  who  tells  that   repentance , 
has  not  come  at  this  hour  to  wash  the 
stains  from  his  soul  ?" 

"  Eye  for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth," 
Bloodson  muttered  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

These  words  broke  the  charm  that 
enchained  the  audience. 

"  Eye  for  efe,  tooth  for  tooth,"  they 
exclaimed  wrathfully. 

Father  Seraphin  saw  he  was  con 
quered  :  he  understood  that  all  reason 
ing  would  fail  with  these  blood-thirsty 
men,  to  whom  the  life  of  their  fellow- 
men  is  nothing,  and  who  rank  ven 
geance  as  a  virtue. 

"Farewell,"  he  said  in  mournful 
voice  ;  "  farewell,  poor  misguided 
men.  I  dare  not  curse  you,  I  can  only 
pity  you  ;  but  I  warn  you  that  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  to  save  the  victim 
you  wish  to  immolate  to  your  odious 
passions." 

And  he  went  out  of  the  lodge. 

When  the  emotion  caused  by  the 
priest's  wo.-ds  had  calmed  down,  Don 
Miguel  walked  up  to  Bloodson,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  one  the  ranger  offered 
to  him. 


"  I  accept  Lynch  Law,"  be  said. 

"  Yes,"  all  present  shouted,  "  Lynch 
Law." 

A  few  hours  later,  Bloodson  regained 
his  camp,  and  it  was  after  this  inter 
view  that  Valentine  had  the  conversa 
tion  with  Don  Pablo,  as  he  returned 
from  Red  Cedar's  jacal,  which  we  de 
scribed  at  the  beginning  of  the  volume. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

RED     CEDAR. 

Now  that  we  have  explained  the  in 
cidents  that  took  place  during  the  six 
months  that  had  elapsed  between  Dona 
Clara's  death  and  the  conversation  in 
the  cavern  during  the  storm,  we  will 
resume  our  narrative  where  we  left  it 
at  the  end  of  chapter  three. 

Only  a  few  minutes  after  the  hacien- 
dero's  son  had  left,  the  door  of  the  jacal 
was  roughly  opened — four  men  entered. 
They  were  Red  Cedar,  Fray  Ambrosia, 
Sutler,  and  Nathan.  They  appeared 
sad  and  gloomy,  and  the  water  poured 
down  from  their  clothes  as  if  they  had 
come  out  of  the  river. 

"Halloh,"  the  monk  said;  "what! 
no  fire  or  light,  and  nothing  in  the  calli 
to  greet  us.  You  do  not  care  much  for 
us,  I  fancy." 

Red  Cedar  kissed  his  daughter  on 
the  forehead,  and  turning  to  Fray  Am- 
brosio,  to  whom  he  gave  a  passionate 
glance,  he  said  roughly  : 

"  You  are  in  my  house,  my  master : 
do  not  oblige  me  to  remind  you  of  that 
fact;  so  begin  by  being  civil  to  my 
daughter,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  give 
you  a  lesson." 

"  Hum  !"  the  monk  remarked  with  a 
growl ;  "  is  this  young  woman  so  sacred, 
that  you  should  fire  up  at  the  slightest 
word  addressed  to  her?" 

"  1  do  not  fire  up,"  the  squatter  re 
plied,  sharply,  as  he  struck  the  table 
with  his  fist ;  "  but  your  way  of  speak 
ing  does  not  please  me,  I  tell  you ;  so 
do  not  oblige  me  to  repeat  it." 

Fray  Ambrosio  made  no  answer ; 
he  understood  that  Red  Cedar  was  in  a 
state  of  mind  unfavorable  for  a  discus- 


04 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


sion ;  he  therefore  prudently  refrained 
from  any  remark  that  might  lead  to  a 
quarrel,  which  he  seemed  as  anxious  to 
avoid  as  the  squatter  to  pick  it.  Dur 
ing  the  exchange  of  these  few  sentences, 
Ellen,  helped  by  her  brothers,  had  lit  a 
torch  of  candle-wood,  rekindled  the  fire, 
the  absence  of  which  was  felt,  and  placed 
on  the  table  a  meal,  sufficient,  if  not 
luxurious. 

"  Caballeros,"  she  said  in  her  gentle 
voice,  "  you  are  served." 

The  four  men  sat  round  the  table 
with  the  eagerness  of  hungry  persons 
who  are  desirous  of  breaking  a  long 
fast.  Before  raising  the  first  morsel  to 
his  lips,  the  squatter,  however,  turned 
to  his  daughter. 

"  Ellen,"  he  said  to  her  kindly,  "  will 
you  not  sit  down  with  us  ?" 

"Thank  you,  father,  but  I  am  not 
hungry  ;  it  would  be  really  impossible 
for  me  to  swallow  the  least  morsel." 

The  squatter  sighed,  but  raising  no 
objection,  he  began  to  serve  his  guests, 
while  Ellen  retired  into  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  shanty.  The  meal  was 
sad ;  the  four  men  seemed  busy  in 
thought,  and  ate  quickly  and  silently. 
When  their  hunger  was  appeased,  they 
lit  their  pipes. 

"Father,"  Nathan  suddenly  said  to 
Red  Cedar,  who  was  sorrowfully  watch 
ing  the  smoke  ascend  in  spirals  to  the 
roof;  "  I  have  found  a  trail." 

"  So  have  I,"  the  monk  remarked. 
"  And    I,    too,"    the    squatter    said ; 
"  what  of  that  ?" 

"  What  of  that  ?"  Fray  Ambros'o 
shouted.  "  Canarios,  gossip,  you  take 
things  very  lightly.  A  trail  in  the  de 
sert  always  reveals  an  enemy." 

"What  do  I  care  for  that1?"  Red 
Cedar  replied,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoul 
ders. 

"What?"  the  monk  shouted,  as  he 
sprang  up ;  "  that  is  very  fine,  on  my 
word ;  to  hear  you,  one  might  fancy 
you  were  an  entire  stranger  to  the  ques 
tion,  and  that  your  life  is  not  at  stake 
like  ours." 

"  Who  tells  you  that  I  wish  to  defend 
it?"  the  squatter  replied,  giving  him  a 
look  which  made  his  eyes  fall. 

"  Hum !"  the  monk  remarked,  after 
a  moment's  silence  j  "  I  can  understand 


that  you  do  not  cling  to  life;  you  have 
gone  through  so  much,  that  you  would 
not  regret  death  ;  but  there  is  one  thing 
you  forget,  gossip,  not  referring  to  my 
self,  though  I  have  a  right  to  reproach 
you." 

The  squatter  carelessly  shook  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  filled  it  again,  and 
went  on  smoking  as  if  not  paying  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  monk's  re 
marks.  The  latter  frowned  and  clench 
ed  his  fists,  but  recovering  his  temper 
almost  immediately,  he  continued,  with 
feigned  indifference,  while  playing  with 
his  knife : 

"  Yes,  you  forget  one  thing,  gossip, 
which  however,  is  worth  remembering." 
"What  is  it?" 
"  Your  children,  cospita  !" 
The  squatter   gave  him   an   ironical 
glance. 

"  Oh,  por  Dios  santo  !"  the  monk 
went  on  ;  "  I  do  not  refer  to  your  sons, 
for  they  are  strong  and  resolute  men, 
who  can  always  get  out  of  a  scrape  ;  I 
do  not  trouble  myself  about  them  at 
all." 

"  About  whom,  then  ?"  the  squatter 
asked,  looking  at  him  sharply. 

"  Why,  for  your  daughter  Ellen,  can- 
arios  !  what  will  become  of  her,  if  you 
die?"  the  monk  said,  with  that  bold 
ness  peculiar  to  timid  persons,  who  wish 
to  know  at  once  if  the  mine  they  have 
fired  will  crush  them.  The  squatter 
shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said,  with  a  glance 
at  his  daughter. 

The  monk  smiled — the  blow  had  tol  J, 
so  he  went  on. 

"  In  destroying  yourself,  you  destroy 
her,"  he  said  ;  "  yonr  obstinacy  may 
cause  her  death,  so  take  care." 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  the  squatter 
asked. 

"  Take  our  precautions,  voto  de  Dios  I 
believe  me,  we  are  watched  ;  remain 
ing  longer  here  would  be  the  utmost 
imprudence." 

The  squatter's  sons  nodded  their  as 
sent. 

"  It  is  evident,"  Sutler  observed, 
"  that  our  enemies  have  discovered  our 
trail." 

"  And  that  they  will  soon  be  here," 
Nathan  added. 


TEE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  You  hear  ?"  the  monk  went  en. 

"  Once  again  I  ask,  what  is  to  be 
done  ?"  Red  Cedar  asked. 

"  Caspita,  be  off  as  speedily  as  possi 
ble." 

"  Where  can  we  go  at  this  advanced 
season  of  the  year  1  the  snow  will  soon 
cover  the  ground,  and  interrupt  all  com 
munication  ;  if  we  leave  the  jacal,  we 
run  a  risk  of  dying  of  hunger." 

"  Yes,  if  we  remain  in  the  desert," 
the  monk  observed,  in  an  insinuating 
voice. 

"  Where  do  you  propose  going  then?" 
the  squatter  asked. 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  There  is  no 
lack  of  towns,  I  suppose,  on  the  Indian 
border ;  we  might,  if  absolutely  neces 
sary,  return  to  the  Paso  del  Norte, 
where  we  have  friends,  and  are  certain 
of  a  kind  reception." 

Red  Cedar  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  and  s;iid  ironically  : 

"  Out  with  your  whole  thought, 
Senor  Padre  ;  you  have  an  object  in 
wishing  to  return  to  the  Paso,  so  let  me 
know  it." 

"  Cat-pita,  you  are  as  clever  as  I  am," 
the  monk  exclaimed,  blushing  the  while  ; 
'•  what  need  have  we  to  humbug  one  an 
other  ?" 

The  squatter  rose,  and  kicked  back 
his  stool. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  passionately, 
"  let  us  deal  openly  with  one  another. 
I  wish  nothing  better,  and  to  give  you 
an  example,  listen  to  me.  You  have 
never  lost  out  of  sight  the  reason  that 
made  you  'enter  the  desert  ;  you  have 
only  one  object,  one  desire,  to  reach 
the  rich  placer,  the  situation  of  which 
you  learned  by  assassinating  a  man. 
Neither  the  fatigue  you  have  endured, 
nor  the  peril  you  have  incurred,  has 
made  you  renounce  your  scheme  ;  the 
hope  ot  a  rich  crop  of  gold  blinds  you, 
and  makes  you  mad.  Is  it  so  or  not  ?" 

"  It  is  true,"  the  monk  coolly  replied, 
"  what  next  ?" 

"  When  our  band  was  destroyed,  and 
completely  dispersed,  this  was  the  rea 
soning  you  employed — a  reasoning," 
he  added,  with  a  b  tter  smile,  "  which 
does  honour  to  your  sagacity  and  firm 
ness  of  character  ;  '  Red  Cedar  all  but 


knows  the  site  of  the  placer.  1  must 
induce  him  to  return  with  me  to  the 
Paso,  to  form  another  band,  because  if 
I  leave  him  alone  in  the  desert,  so  soon 
as  my  back  is  turned,  he  will  go  in 
search  of  the  treasures,  and  carelessly 
discover  it.'  Have  1  not  guessed  aright, 
gossip?" 

"  Nearly  so,"  the  monk  answered, 
furious  at  seeing  his  plans  so  clearly 
read  through. 

"  I  thought  so,"  Red  Cedar  conti 
nued  ;  "  but,  like  all  bad  men,  gan 
grened  to  the  heart,  you  went  beyond 
your  object,  by  attributing  to  me  the 
same  sordid  instincts  you  possess ;  and 
you  thought  that  because  I  am  an  as 
sassin,  I  may  be  a  thief:  that  is  the  er 
ror  in  which  you  fell,  gossip.  Under 
stand  me,"  he  said,  stamping  his  foot 
violently  ;  "  were  the  coveted  treasure 
at  this  moment  beneath  my  heel,  I 
would  not  stoop  down  to  pick  up  a 
nugget.  Gold  is  nothing  to  me,  I  de 
spise  it.  When  I  consented  to  guide 
you  to  the  placer  you  naturally  as 
sumed  that  avarice  led  me  to  do  so  ; 
but  you  are  mistaken  ;  I  had  a  more 
powerful  and  nobler  motive — revenge. 
Now,  do  not  trouble  me  more  about 
your  accursed  placer,  for  which  I  care 
as  little  as  1  do  for  a  nut.  And  with 
that,  good  night,  gossip  ;  I  am  going  bo 
sleep,  or  try  to  do  so,  and  recommend 
the  same  to  you." 

And,  without  awaiting  the  monk's 
reply,  the  squatter  turned  his  back  and 
stalked  into  an  inner  room.  For  some 
time  past,  Ellen  hud  been  asleep,  and 
so  the  monk  remained  alone  with  the 
squatter's  sons.  For  some  minutes 
they  remained  in  silence. 

"  Bah,"  the  monk  at  length  said 
cautiously,  "however  much  he  may 
struggle,  it  must  happen." 

Sutter  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  know 
the  old  one ;  once  he  has  said  no,  he 
sticks  to  it." 

"  Hum  !"  Nathan  added,  "  he  has 
greatly  changed  lately  ;  of  all  his  old 
character,  he  seems  only  to  have  kept 
his  obstinacy  ;  I  am  afraid  you  will 
fail,  Senor  Padre." 

"  Live    and   learn,"    the   latter   said 


96 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


gaily ;  "  to-morrow  has  to  come  ;  in 
the  meanwhile,  gentlemen,  let  us  follow 
his  advice,  and  go  to  sleep." 

Ten  minutes  later  all  slept,  or  seem 
ed  to  sleep,  in  the  jacal  :  the  storm 
lasted  the  night  through,  howling  fu 
riously.  At  daybreak,  the  squatter 
rose,  and  went  out  to  see  what  sort  of 
weather  it  was.  The  day  promised 
well  ;  the  sky  was  pure,  and  the  sun 
rose  radiantly. 

Red  Cedar,  therefore,  started  for  the 
corral  to  saddle  his  horse,  and  those  of 
his  comrades.  Before  leaving  the 
household,  however,  he  looked  around, 
and  suddenly  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  surprise  as  he  started  back.  He 
had  noticed  a  horseman  coming  up  at 
full  speed. 

"  Father  Seraphin  !"  he  muttered  in 
astonishment;  "what  serious  reason 
can  bring  him  here,  at  such  an  hour 
and  in  such  haste  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  other  entered 
the  keeping-room,  and  the  squatter 
heard  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  be 
hind  him.  He  turned  quickly. 

"  Hide  yourselves,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"What's  the  matter?"  the  monk 
asked  furiously,  as  he  stepped  forward. 

With  one  blow  of  his  list,  the  squat 
ter  hurled  him  to  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

"  Did  you  not  hear  me  ?"  he  said 
passionately.  But,  although  Red 
Cedar's  blow  had  been  so  powerful,  he 
could  not  prevent  the  monk  recognizing 
Father  Seraphin. 

"Ah,  ah,"  he  said,  with  an  ugly 
smile,  "  Father  Seraphin  !  if  our  friend 
wished  to  confess,  was  not  I  enough  1 
he  need  not  only  have  told  me,  instead 
of  sending  for  that  European  magpie." 

Red  Cedar  here  turned  as  if  a  viper 
had  stung  him,  and  gave  the  three  men 
such  a  glance  of  ferocity,  that  they  in 
voluntarily  recoiled. 

"  Villain,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
and  a  terrible  gesture,  "  I  know  not 
what  prevents  me  killing  you,  like  .the 
dog  you  are.  If  one  of  you  dare  utter 
a  syllable  against  this  holy  man,  by 
Heaven,  I  will  flay  him  alive.  Hide 
yourselves,  I  insist." 

Subjugated  by  the  squatter's  accent, 


the  three  men  left  the  room  without  re 
plying,  and  ten  minutes  later  Fa 
ther  Seraphin  checked  his  horse, 
and  dismounted  in  front  of  the  jacal.— 
Red  Cedar  and  his  daughter  hurried  for 
ward  to  meet  the  father,  who  walked 
into  the  hut,  wiping  the  perspiration 
that  stood  on  his  forehead.  Red  Cedar 
offered  him  a  butacca. 

"Sit  down,  father,"  he  said  to  him, 
"you  are  very  hot;  will  you  take  some 
refreshment?'' 

"  Thanks,"  the  missionary  answered, 
"  but  we  have  not  a  moment  to  lose,  so 
listen  to  me." 

"What  has  happened,  father?  why 
have  you  come  in  such  haste  ?" 

"  Alas  !"  he  went  on,  "  because  you 
are  menaced  by  a  terrible  misfortune." 

The  squatter  turned  pale.  "  It  is 
but  just,"  he  muttered,  with  a  frown  ; 
"  the  expiation  is  beginning." 

"Courage,  my  children,"  the  mis 
sionary  said,  affectionately,  "  your  ene 
mies  have  discovered  your  retreat,  I 
know  not  how  ;  they  will  be  here  to 
morrow  —  perhaps  to-day  —  you  must 
fly — fly  at  once." 

"  For  what  good  ?"  the  squatter  re 
marked  ;  "  the  hand  of  GOD  is  in  this 
— no  man  can  escape  his  destiny;  bet 
ter  to  wait." 

Father  Seraphin  assumed  a  serious 
air,  and  said  in  a  stern  voice — 

"  God  wishes  to  try  you  ;  it  would 
be  cowardice,  suicide,  to  surrender 
yourself  to  those  who  desire  your  death, 
and  Heaven  would  not  pardon  you  for 
doing  so.  Every  living  creature  must 
defend  life  when  attacked.  Fly — I  bid 
you — 1  order  you." 

"  The  squatter  made  no  reply. 

"  Besides,"  Father  Seraphin  continu 
ed,  in  a  tone  he  strove  to  render  gay, 
"  the  storm  may  blow  over  ;  your  ene 
mies,  not  finding  yon  here,  will  doubt 
less  abandon  the  pursuit;  in  a  few  days 
you  will  be  able  to  return." 

"  No,"  the  squatter  said  disconsolate 
ly,  "they  desire  my  death.  As  you 
order  me  to  fly,  father,  I  will  obey  you, 
but,  before  all,  grant  me  one  favor." 

"  Speak,  my  son." 

"  I,"  the  squatter  went  on,  with  ill- 
concealed  emotion,  "  am  a  man  ;  I  can, 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


97 


without  succumbing,  support  the  mos 
excessive  fatigue,  brave  the  greates 
dangers  ;  but " 

"  I  understand  you,"  the  missionary 
quickly  interrupted  him  ;  "  I  intend  to 
keep    your   daughter  with  me.     Be  a 
your  ease,  she  shall  want  for  nothing.' 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  father  !"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  an  accent  such  a  man 
might  have  been  thought  incapable  of 

Ellen  had  hitherto  listened  to  the 
conversation  in  silence,  but  now  she 
stepped  forward,  and  placing  herself 
between  the  two  men,  said  with  sublime 
dignity: 

"  I  arn  most  grateful  to  both  of  you 
for  your  intentions  with  regard  to  me, 
but  I  cannot  abandon  my  father ;  I  will 
follow  him  wherever  he  goes,  to  console 
him  and  aid  him  in  suffering  the  retri 
butions  Heaven  sends  on  him,  as  a 
Christian  should  do." 

The  two  men  prepared  to  interrupt 
her. 

"  Stay  !"  she  said,  warmly  ;  "  hither 
to  I  have  suffered  through  my  father's 
conduct,  for  it  was  gui  ty  ;  but  now 
that  repentance  fills  his  soul,  I  pity  and 
love  him.  My  resolution  is  unchange 
able." 

Father  Seraphin  gazed  at  her  in  ad 
miration. 

"  It  is  well,  my  child,"  he  said ; 
"  Heaven  will  remember  such  pure  and 
noble  devotion." 

The  squatter  pressed  his  daughter  to 
his  heart,  but  had  not  the  strength  to 
utter  a  word — he  had  never  felt  such 
sweet  emotion  before.  The  missionary 
rose. 

"  Farewell,"  he  said,  "  and  take  cour 
age  ;  put  your  trust  in  God,  who  will 
not  abandon  you.  I  will  watch  over 
you  at  a  distance.  Farewell,  my  chil 
dren,  and  bless  you.  Go,  go,  without 
delay." 

Then,  tearing  himself  by  an  effort 
from  Red  Cedar's  arms,  Father  Sera 
phin  remounted,  dug  his  spurs,  into  his 
horse's  flanks,  and  started  at  full  speed, 
after  giving  his  proteges  a  parting  wave 
of  the  hand. 

"  Oh  !"  Red  Cedar  muttered,  "  that 
could  not  last,  for  I  was  almost  happy." 

"  Courage,  father,"  Ellen  said  to  him 
softly. 


They  re-entered  the  jacal,  where  the 
men  were  awaiting  them. 

"  Go  and  saddle  the  horses,"  the 
squatter  said,  "  we  are  going  away." 

"  Ah  !"  the  monk  whispered  Sutter, 
"  did  I  not  tell  you  the  demon  was  on 
our  side  ?  Canarios  !  he  would  not  for 
get  us,  as  we  have  done  so  much  for 
him." 

The  preparations  for  quitting  the 
jacal  were  not  long,  and  au  hour  later, 
the  five  persons  started. 

"  In  what  direction  do  we  go  ?"  the 
monk  asked. 

"  Let  us  go  in  the  mountains,"  the 
squatter  answered,  laconically,  as  he 
took  a  melancholy  glance  at  this  wretch 
ed  hut,  in  which  he  had  perhaps  hoped 
to  end  his  days,  and  which  fate  com 
pelled  him  to  leave  forever. 

The  fugitives  had  scarce  disappeared 
behind  a  clump  of  trees,  when  a  cloud 
of  dust  rose  on  the  horizon,  and  five 
horsemen  soon  appeared,  coming1  up  at 
full  speed.  They  were  Valentine  and 
his  friends. 

The  hunter  must  have  obtained  pre 
cise  information  from  Bloodson  as  to 
the  situation  of  the  jacal,  for  he  did  not 
hesitate  a  moment,  but  rode  straight  in. 
Don  Pablo's  heart  beat,  as  if  to  burst 
his  chest,  though  he  apparently  remain- 
sd  unmoved. 

"  Hum  !"  Valentine  said,  when  about 
a  dozen  yards  from  the  jacal,  "  every 
thing  is  very  silent  here." 

"  The  squatter  is  no  doubt  out  hunt- 
ng,"  Don  Miguel  observed,  '•  we  shall 
only  find  his  daughter." 
Valentine  began  laughing. 
"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  said.     "  No, 
no,    Don    Miguel,    remember    Father 
Seraphiu's  words." 

General  Ibanez,  who  was  the  first  to 
reach  the  jacal,  dismounted  and  opened 
he  door. 

"Nobody  !"  he  said,  in  surprise. 
"  By  Jove  !"  Valentine  said,  "  1  sus- 
)ected  that  the  bird  had  flown  ;  but  this 
ime  he  will  be  very  cunning  if  he  es- 
apes  us.  Forward,  forward  !  they  can- 
aot  be  far  ahead." 

They  started  again.  Curumilla  re 
named  behind  for  a  second,  and  threw 
a  lighted  torch  into  the  shanty,  which 
was  soon  burned  down. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"The  fox  is  unearthed,"  the  Indian 
muttered  to  himself,  while  rejoining 
his  comrades. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

CURT/MILL  A. 

ABOUT  a  month  after  the  events  we 
have  just  described,  in  the  early  part 
of  December,  which  the  Comanches 
call,  in  their  picturesque  language,  "  the 
Moon  of  the  roebuck  ^hat  sheds  its 
horns,"  and  a  few  minutes  after  sunrise, 
a  party,  consisting  of  five  or  six  men, 
whom,  by  their  garb,  it  was  easy  to  re 
cognize  as  wood  rangers  from  the  Far 
West,  climbed  one  of  the  highest  peaks 
of  the  Sierra  de  los  Comanches,  the 
eastern  chain  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
running  down  into  Texas,  where  it  ter 
minates  in  the  Gaudaloupe  mountains. 

The  weather  was  cold,  and  a  dense 
layer  of  snow  covered  the  sides  of  the 
mountains.  The  slope  which  these  bold 
adventurers  were  following,  was  so 
rugged  that,  although  accustomed  to 
travel  in  these  regions,  they  were  often 
compelled  to  bend  their  backs  and 
creep  along  on  their  hands  and  knees. 
But  no  difficulty  baffled  them,  no  ob 
stacle  was  great  enough  to  make  them 
turn  back. 

At  times,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and 
bathed  in  perspiration,  they  stopped  to 
take  breath,  lay  down  on  the  snow,  and 
picked  up  some  handfuls  to  allay  the 
ardent  thirst  that  devoured  them  ;  then, 
after  resting  a  little  while,  they  cour 
ageously  set  out  again,  and  clambered 
up  the  eternal  ice,  wh  >se  gigantic 
masses  became  with  each  moment  more 
abrupt. 

W  ere  these  men  in  search  of  a  prac 
ticable  road  in  this  frghtful  labyrinth 
of  mountains,  whose  peaks  rose  around 
them,  at  an  immense  height,  in  the  icy 
regions  of  the  sky  ?  Perhaps,  how 
ever,  they  wished,  for  reasons  known 
t«j  themselves  alone,  to  gain  a  spot 
whence  they  could  have  an  extensive 
prospect. 

If  such  were  their  hopp,  it  was  not 
deceived.  When,  after  incessant  toil 


[  they  all  at  last  reached  the  summit 
of  the  peak  they  were  scaling,  they 
suddenly  had  before  them  a  landscape, 
whose  grand  appearance  amazed  and 
startled  them  through  its  sublime  im 
mensity.  In  whatever  direction  they 
looked,  they  were  confounded  by  the 
majesty  of  the  panorama  unfolded  at 
their  feet. 

In  truth,  the  Rocky  Mountains  are 
unique  in  the  world,  bearing  no  re 
semblance  with  the  Pyrenees,  Alps,  and 
Apennines,  and  those  magnificent  chains 
of  mountains  which  here  and  there 
stride  across  the  old  world,  and  seem 
with  their  barren  crest  to  protest 
against  the  pride  of  creatures,  in  the 
name  of  the  Creator. 

The  hunters  were  hanging,  as  it  were, 
over  a  world.  Beneath  them  was  the 
Sierra  de  los  Comanches,  an  immense 
mountain  broken  up  into  snowy  p^aks, 
displaying  all  their  gloomy  caverns, 
deep  and  awe-inspiring  valleys,  their 
brilliant  lakes,  their  dark  defiles  and 
their  foaming  torrents,  which  bounded 
noisily  downward  ;  then,  far  beyond 
these  savage  limits,  the  eye  was  lost  in 
an  unbounded  landscape,  bathed  in  a 
hazy  distance,  like  the  surface  of  the 
sea  in  calm  weather. 

Owing  to  the  purity  and  transparency 
of  the  atmosphere,  the  adventurers  dis 
tinguished  the  smallest  objects  at  a  sur 
prising  distance.  However,  in  all 
probabily,  these  men  had  not  under 
taken  so  perilous  an  ascent  through 
motives  of  curiosity.  The  mode  in 
which  they  examined  the  country  and 
analysed  the  immense  panorama  un 
rolled  before  them,  proved,  on  the  con 
trary,  that  very  serious  reasons  had 
urged  them  to  br.ive  the  almost  insur 
mountable  difficulties  they  had  over 
come,  in  order  to  reach  the  point  where 
they  were. 

The  group  formed  by  these  men  with 
their  bronzed  faces,  energetic  features 
and  picturesque  garb,  as  they  leant  on 
their  rifles,  with  eyes  fixed  on  space  and 
frowning  brow,  had  something  grand 
about  it;  at  this  extraordinary  eleva 
tion,  at  the  summit  of  the  p"ak  cover 
ed  with  eternal  snow,  which  served 
them  as  a  pedestal  in  the  midst  of  the 
chaos  that  surrounded  them. 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


For  a  long  time  they  remained  there 
without  speaking,  trying  to  distinguish 
in  the  windings  of  the  quebradas  the 
slightest  break  of  the  ground,  denf  to 
the  mournful  growling  of  the  torrents 
that  leaped  at  their  feet,  and  the  sinister 
rolling  of  the  avalanches,  which  glided 
down  the  mountain  side,  and  fell  with 
a  crash  into  the  valleys,  dragging  trees 
and  rocks  with  them. 

At  length  the  man  who  appeared  the 
leader  of  the  party  passed  his  hand 
over  his  brow,  damp  with  exertion, 
though  the  cold  was  intense  in  these  re 
gions,  and  turned  to  his  companions  to 
say,  "  My  friends,  we  are  now  twenty 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
plain,  that  is  to  say,  we  have  reached 
the  spot  where  the  Indian  warrior  sees 
for  the  first  time  after  death  the  count 
ry  of  souls,  and  contemplates  the  hap 
py  hunting  grounds,  the  brilliant  abode 
of  just,  free,  and  generous  warriors. 
The  eagle  alone  could  rise  higher  than 
ourselves." 

'•  Yes,"  one  of  his  comrades  replied, 
with  a  shake  of  head  ;  "  but,  though  I  keep 
looking  around,  I  see  no  possibility  of 
getting  out." 

"  Hilloh,  general !"  the  first  speaker 
interposed,  "  what  is  that  you  are  say 
ing  ?  we  might  fancy,  which  Heaven 
forbid,  that  you  were  despairing." 

"  Well,"  the  other,  who  was  Gene 
ral  Ibanes,  replied,  "  that  supposition 
would  not  be  without  a  certain  degree 
of  correctness  ;  listen  to  me,  Don  Va 
lentine  ;  for  ten  days  we  have  beeu  lost 
on  these  confounded  mountains,  sur 
rounded  by  ice  and  snow,  and  with 
nothing  to  eat,  under  the  pretext  of  find 
ing  the  hiding  place  of  that  old  villain 
Red  Cedar,  and  I  do  not  mind  confess 
ing  to  you,  that  1  am  beginning,  not  to 
despair,  but  to  believe" that,  "unless  a 
miracle  happen,  it  will  be  impossible 
for  us  to  get  out  of  this  inextricable 
chaos  in  which  we  are  enclosed." 

Valentine  shook  his  head  several 
times. 

The  five  men  standing  on  the  peak 
were  really  the  Trail-hunter  and  his 
friends. 

"  No  matter,"  General  Ibanex  con 
tinued,  "you  will  agree  with  me  that 


:  our   position,    far    from    improving,    is 
j  growing  with  each   moment  nv»re  diffi 
!  cult  ;  for  two  days  we  have  been  com- 

•  pletely  out    of  provisions,  and  I  do  no' 
j  see  how  we  shall   procure  any  in   thes** 
;  icy  regions.     Red  Cedar  has  tricked  us 

with  that  diabolical  cunning  which  never 
fails  him,  he  has  led  us  into  a  trap  WP 
cannot  get  out  of,  and  where  we  shall 
find  death." 

There  was  a    mournful  silence.     The 

despair  of  these    energetic    men,  cold Iv 

I  calculating,    amid    the    steep,  northerlv 

country  that  surrounded  them,  the  few 

hours  of  existence  still    left  them,  ha,i 

•  something  crushing  about  it.  Scarce  aWe 
I  to  stand,  more    like  corpses   than  men, 
i  with  haggard  features  and  eves  reddeo- 
!  ed  with  fever,  they  stood  calm   and  re- 
|  signed,  gazing  on  the  magnificent  plains 
I  stretching   out   at  their  feet,   on   whicii 

i  thousands  of  animals  sported,and  cover- 
i  ed  everywhere   with   trees,  whose  frujt 
would   so   quickly  have    checked   their 
hunger. 

But  between  them  and  these  plain* 
stood  an  insurmountable  barrier,  which 
neither  strength  nor  cunning  could 
carry  :  all  that  was  humanly  possible, 
these  men  had  done  during  the  last  two 
days  to  save  themselves.  All  their 
plans  had  been  foiled  by  a  strange  fa 
tality,  which  made  them  constant! jr  go 
round  in  a  circle  among  the«e  moun 
tains,  which  are  so  like  each  other,  and 
all  their  attempts  had  broken  down. 

"  Pardon  me.  my  friends,"  Don  Mi 
guel  de  Zarate  said,  with  a  crushing  ac 
cent  of  sorrow,  "  pardon  me,  for  1 
alone  am  the  cause  of  your  death." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Don  Miguel,"  Valen 
tine  quickly  exclaimed,  "ail  u 
yet/' 

A  heart-rending  smile  played  round 
the  haciendero's  lips. 

"  Yon  are  ever  the  same,  Don  Valen 
tine,''  he  said  ;  "  good,  and  generous, 
forgetting  yourself  for  your  friends. 
Alas !  hid  we  followed  your  advice, 
we  should  not  be  dying  of  famine  and 
misery  in  these  desolate  mountains. ' 

'•That  will  do,"  the  hunter  said, 
gruffly  ;  "  what  is  done  canuot  be  un 
done ;  perhaps  it  would  have  been  bt-t- 
ter  had  you  listened  to  me  some  days 


100 


THE    TRAPi'ER'S    DAuulITER. 


back,  I  grant;  but  of  what  use  is  re 
crimination  now  ?  Let  us  rather  seek 
the  means  to  get  out  of  this." 

"It  is  impossible,"  Don  Miguel  con 
tinued,  disconsolately,  and  letting  his 
head  fall  in  his  hands,  he  gave  way  to 
sad  reflections. 

"  Carai  !"  the  hunter  exclaimed,  ener 
getically,  "  impossible  is  a  word  we 
Frenchmen  have  erased  from  our  dic 
tionary.  Hang  it !  as  long  as  the  heart 
beats,  there  is  hope.  Were  Red  Cedar 
more  cunning  than  he  is,  which  would 
be  most  difficult,  I  swear  you  that  we 
shall  find  him,  and  get  out  of  this  hob 
ble." 

"  But  how  ?''  Don  Pablo  eagerly  ask 
ed. 

"  I  do  not  know ;  still  I  am  certain 
we  shall  escape." 

"  Ah,  if  we  were  only  by  the  side  of 
those  two  horsemen,"  the  general  said, 
vith  a  sigh,  "  we  should  be  saved." 

"  What  horsemen  do  you  allude  to, 
general  ?  where  do  you  see  them  ?" 
the  hunter  asked. 

"There,"  he  replied,  "  near  the  clump 
of  cork  trees.  Do  you  see  them  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Valentine,  "  they  are  rid 
ing  quietly,  like  men  who  know  they 
are  on  the  right  road,  and  have  nothing 
to  fear." 

"  They  are  very  lucky,"  the  general 
muttered. 

"  Bah  !  who  knows  what  awaits  them 
on  turning  from  the  road  they  are  now 
following  so  peacefully  ?"  the  hunter 
remarked,  with  a  smile  ;  "no  one  can 
answer  for  the  next  minute  ;  they  are 
on  the  road  from  Independence  to  Santa 
Fe." 

"  Hum  !  I  should  like  to  be  there 
too,"  the  general  growled  between  his 
teeth. 

Valentine,  who  first  looked  carelessly 
at  the  horsemen,  now  followed  them 
with  interest,  almost  with  anxiety  ;  but 
they  soon  disappeared  in  a  bend  of  a 
road.  For  a  long  time,  however,  the 
hunter  remained  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  spot  where  he  had  first  seen  them  ; 
gradually  he  began  frowning,  a  deep 
wrinkle  was  hollowed  on  his  forehead, 
and  he  leaned  on  his  rifle,  motionless 
and  dumb,  but  seeming  to  be  suffering 
from  great  agitation.  Involuntarily, 


his  comrades  followed  with  growin"  in 
terest  the  current  of  his  thoughts,  which 
j  could  be  read,  as  it  were,  on  their  com- 
'  panion's  brow.     He  remained  for  some 
'  time    thus    absorbed,  but  at  length   he 
raised  his  head,  and  looked  around  with 
a  bright  and  intrepid  glance. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  joyously,  as 
he  struck  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on  the 
ground,  "  regain  courage,  I  believe  I 
have  found  the  way  of  getting  safe  and 
sound  out  of  the  wasp-nest  into  which 
we  have  thrust  our  heads." 

His  comrades  gave  vent  to  a  sigh  of 
relief,  almost  of  joy.     They  knew  the 
J  hunter,  they  were  aware  how  fertile  the 
mind  of  this  brave    and  devoted    man 
was    in  expedients,  and  how  inaccessi- 
i  ble   to    despondency  ;  they   put  entire 
|  faith  in  him.     Valentine  told   them    he 
I  believed  he  could  save  them  ;  they  did 
not  suspect  what  means  he  would  em 
ploy,    but    that    was    his    business,  not 
theirs.     Now  they  were  calm,  for  they 
had  his  word,  winch  he  had  never  been 
known  to  break  ;  they  had  only  to  wait 
patiently  till  the  hour  for  their  deliver 
ance  arrived. 

"  Bah  !"  the  general  answered,  gaily, 
"  I  was  sure  we  should  get  out  of  this, 
my  friend." 

"  When  shall  we  start  ?"  Don  Pablo 
asked. 

"As  soon  as  it  is  night,"  Valentine 
replied  ;  "but  where  is  Curumilla  ?" 

"  On  my  word  I  do  not  know.  I  saw 
him  about  half-an-hour  ago,  gliding 
along  the  mountain  side,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  gone  mad  ;  but  I  have  not 
seen  him  since." 

"  Curumilla  does  nothing  without  a 
reason,"  the  hunter  said  with  a  shake  of 
the  head;  "you  will  soon  see  him  re 
turn." 

Indeed,  the  hunter  had  scarce  finished 
speaking,  when  the  Indian  Chief  shewed 
his  head  level  with  the  platform,  and 
with  one  leap  he  rejoined  his  friends. 
His  zarape,  knotted  ;it  the  four  corners, 
hung  behind  his  back. 

"  What  have  you  there,  chief?"  Va 
lentine  asked,  with  a  smile  ;  "  can  it  be 
food  ?" 

"  Cuerpo  de  Cristo  !"  the  general  ex 
claimed,  "  it  would  be  welcome,  for  1 
have  a  wolf's  appetite." 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


101 


"  Wln>re  could  provisions  be  found 
in  this  fearful  region  ?"  Don  Pablo  ex 
claimed,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  My  brothers  will  see,"  the  chief 
simply  answered. 

And  he  threw  his  zarape  on  the  snow, 
where  Valentine  undone  the  knots. 
The  hunters  uttered  a  cry  of  joy,  for  it 
contained  a  hare,  a  young  peccari,  and 
several  birds.  These  prorisions,  arriv 
ing  so  opportunely,  when  the  hunters 
had  been  fasting  for  nearly  forty-eight 
hours,  seemed  to  them  the  result  of 
magic. 

To  understand  the  emotion  the  four 
men  experienced  at  the  sight  of  the 
much-desired  food,  a  man  must  have 
himself  gone  through  ail  the  agony  of 
hunger,  without  any  hope  of  stilling  it 
— it  was  almost  frenzy.  When  the 
first  impression  was  slightly  calmed, 
Valentine  turned  to  the  chief,  and  press 
ed  his  hand  tenderly,  as  a  tear  rolled 
down  his  cheek. 

"  My  brother  is  a  great  sorcerer,"  he 
said  to  him. 

The  Ulmen  smiled  softly,  and  stretch 
ed  out  his  arm  to  an  eagle  flying  a  short 
distance  from  the  spot  where  the  hun 
ters  stood. 

"  We  shared,"  he  said. 

Valentine  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of 
admiration,  for  all  was  explained  to 
him.  The  Araucano,  whom  nothing  es 
caped,  hud  seen  the  eagle,  guessed  that 
it  had  a  brood,  and  clambered  up  to  its 
nest  to  procure  a  portion  of  their  food, 
while  on  the  summit  of  the  peak  his 
comrades  were  all  but  yielding  to  their 
despair. 

"  Oh  !"  Valentine  said  joyfully,  "  we 
are  saved,  since  we  shall  regain  that 
strength  we  so  much  need  to  carry  out 
the  plan  we  have  formed.  Follow  me,  j 
we  will  return  to  the  camp,  gaily  eat 
the  dinner  the  eagles  have  supplied  us 
with,  and  start  this  evening." 

Comforted  by 'these  words,  the  hun-  ; 
ters  followed  him,  and  the  little  party 
went   lightly  down   the   mountain,   up  ! 
which  they  had  clambered  in  the  morn 
ing  with  such  difficulty  and  despair  in 
their  hearts. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

EL    MAL    PASO. 

THE  hunters  only  spent  one  hour  in 
going  down,  though  it  had  cost  them 
eight  to  ascend.  Their  bivouac  was 
formed  at  the  top  of  a  scarped  rock,  in 
an  impregnable  position. 

After  their  visit  to  the  jacal,  they 
were  not  long  in  finding  traces  of  the 
fugitives,  and  followed  them  during 
four  days.  As  these  traces  led  to  the 
Sierre  de  los  Comanches,  the  hunters 
bravely  entered  the  obscure  mountain 
defiles,  but  all  at  once  the  trail  disap> 
peared  as  if  by  enchantment,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  find  it  again. 

The  hunters'  incessant  search  had  only 
produced  the  disastrous  result  of  losing 
themselves  in  the  sierra,  and  in  spite  of 
all  their  efforts  they  could  not  discover 
the  path  leading  to  the  right  road.  For 
two  days  their  provisions  had  been  com 
pletely  exhausted,  and  they  were  begin 
ning  to  feel  the  icy  clutch  of  hunger. 

The  position  was  no  longer  tenable, 
and  they  must  escape  from  it  at  all 
risks.  Valentine  and  his  companions 
had,  therefore,  in  spite  of  their  failing 
strength,  climbed  up  the  peak  in  order 
to  look  for  a  road.  But  this  bold  at 
tempt  had  obtained  two  results  instead 
of  one,  for  Valentine  not  only  declared 
he  had  found  what  he  was  seeking,  but 
Curumilla  had  also  procured  food. 
Hence,  the  five  men  joyously  returned 
to  that  camp,  which  they  had  quitted 
with  death  in  their  hearts. 

No  one,  who  has  not  been  in  a  simi 
lar  situation,  can  imagine  the  feeling  of 
perfect  happiness  that  seizes  on  a  man 
when  he  passes,  without  any  transition, 
from  the  extremes!  despair  to  the  great 
est  confidence. 

So  soon  as  they  reached  the  encamp 
ment,  Valentine  rekindled  the  fire, 
which  they  had  not  lit  for  two  days,  as 
it  was  useless.  Still,  as  the  sight  of  tht> 
smoke  would  arouse  Red  Cedar's  suspi 
cions,  if  he  were,  as  was  very  possible, 
in  the  vicinity,  the  hunters  roasted  their 
meat  in  a  cavern  opening  in  the  side  of 
the  hill  on  which  they  encamped. 
When  all  was  ready,  they  began  eating. 

It  was  only  when  their  first  hunger 


102 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


was  appeased  that  they  thought  of  thank 
ing  the  Indian  chief  for  the  abundant 
meal  he  had  procured  them  by  his 
skill,  and  of  which  they  had  such  press 
ing  need.  But  then  they  perceived  that 
the  Araucano  had  not  obtained  the  pro 
visions  they  were  eating  without  incur 
ring  serious  danger ;  in  fact,  Curumilla 
had  on  his  face,  chest,  and  shoulders 
serious  wounds,  inflicted  by  the  beaks 
and  talons  of  the  eagles,  which  must 
have  boldly  defended  their  provisions. 

With  the  Indian  stoicism  which  noth 
ing  can  equal,  Curumilla,  perfectly 
calm  and  silent,  was  staunching  the 
blood  that  poured  from  his  wounds, 
disdaining  to  complain,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  appearing  vexed  at  the  anxie 
ty  his  comrades  evidenced. 

When  the  meal  was  at  an  end,  Val 
entine  solemnly  lit  his  pipe,  the  others 
did  the  same,  and  ere  long  they  were 
almost  hidden  in  a  cloud. 

"  Caballeros,"  Valentine  said  pres 
ently,  "  God  has  come  to  our  assist 
ance,  as  He  always  does,  when  men 
have  a  firm  faith  in  His  omnipotence. 
He  has  deigned  to  supply  us  with  the 
means  to  restore  our  strength,  so  we 
must  not  feel  despondent;  by  this  time 
to-morrow  we  shall  have  escaped 
from  this  unlucky  trap.  When  you 
have  finished  smoking,  lie  down  on 
the  ground  and  sleep.  I  will  awaken 
you  when  the  time  comes,  for  at  the 
hour  of  departure  you  must  feel  ready 
to  undertake  a  long  journey.  We 
have  about  four  hours'  daylight  left, 
so  profit  by  them,  for  I  warn  you  we 
shall  have  plenty  to  do  to-night  in 
every  way.  Now  that  you  are  warned, 
you  had  better  follow  my  advice." 

And,  adding  example  to  precept, 
Valentine  shook  the  ash  from  his 
pipe,  returned  it  to  his  belt,  lay  down 
on  the  ground,  and  almost  immediately 
slept.  His  comrades  probably  found 
the  advice  good,  for  they  followed 
it  without  hesitation,  and  in  ten  min 
utes  all  were  asleep  excepting  Curu 
milla. 

How  long  their  sleep  had  lasted 
when  Valentine  awakened  them,  they 
could  not  say,  but  the  night  had  set 
in.  The  sky,  studded  with  an  infinity 
of  stars,  stretched  out  over  their  heads 


its  dark  blue  vault:  the  moon  ap 
peared  to  be  floating  in  a  sea  of  mist, 
and  spread  over  the  landscape  a  me 
lancholy  light,  which  imparted  a  fan 
tastic  appearance  to  objects. 

"  Up  with  you,"  Valentine  said  in  a 
low  voice,  as  tapped  his  comrades  in 
turn  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Are  we  off  ?"  General  Ibanez  ask 
ed,  as  he  checked  a  yawn,  and  drew 
himself  up,  as  if  worked  by  a  spasm. 

"  Yes,"  was  all  the  hunter  answered. 

Ere  long  all  were  ready  to  start. 

"  We  must  profit  by  the  darkness," 
Valentine  remarked,  "  our  enemies  are 
doubtless  watching  round  us." 

"  We  are  at  your  orders,  my  friend," 
Don  Miguel  answered. 

By  a  sign,  the  hunter  collected  his 
comrades  round  him. 

"  Listen  to  me  carefully,"  he  said, 
"  for,  before  attempting  the  bold  enter- 
prize  I  have  conceived,  I  wish  to  have 
your  full  consent.  Our  position  is 
desperate :  remaining  longer  here  is 
death  :  death  by  hunger,  cold,  thirst, 
and  wretchedness,  after  enduring  intole 
rable  sufferings  for  1  know  not  how 
many  days.  You  are  quite  convinced 
of  this,  I  fancy  ?" 

"  Yes,"  they  replied  unanimously. 

"  Good,"  he  continued  ;  "  trying  lon 
ger  to  find  the  road  we  have  lost  would 
be  a  vain  attempt,  which  would  have 
no  chance  of  success." 

"  Yes,"  they  said  again. 

The  hunter  continued  : 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  about  to  make  an 
equally  mad  attempt  at  this  moment. 
If  it  does  not  succeed,  we  shall  perish ; 
but  at  any  rate  we  shall  do  so  without 
suffering — almost  instantaneously.  If 
we  succeed  by  a  miracle — for  it  is 
almost  a  miracle  1  expect  from  the  in 
exhaustible  mercy  of  Heaven — we  are 
saved.  Reflect  ere  replying;  my 
friends,  are  you  firmly  resolved  to  fol 
low  me,  and  obey  me  in  all  I  order, 
without  hesitation  or  murmuring  ?  In 
a  word,  surrender  your  own  will  for  a 
few  hours  only  to  follow  me?  Answer 
me." 

The  hunters  exchanged  a  glance. 

"  Command,  my  friend,"  the  hacien- 
dero  said,  answering  for  his  com 
rades  ;  "  we  swear  to  follow  and  obey 
you,  whatever  may  happen.'' 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


103 


There  was  a  moment's  silence,  which 
Valentine  was  the  first  to  break. 

"  Very  good,"  he  said,  "  I  have  your 
promise,  and  must  now  accomplish 
mine." 

With  a  gesture  of  sublime  dignity, 
the  wood- ranger  took  off  his  hat,  and 
raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven. 

"  Oh  Lord,"  he  murmured,  "our  life 
is  in  thy  hands:  we  confide  in  thy  jus 
tice  and  mercy."  Then,  turning  to  his 
comrades,  he  said  in  a  firm  voice : 

"  Let  us  go  !" 

The  hunters  prepared  to  leave  their 
camp,  and  Valentine  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  little  band. 

"  And  now,"  he  added  sharply,  "  the 
greatest  silence." 

The  hunters  advanced  in  Indian  file, 
Valentine  leading,  Curumilla  last.  In 
this  dark  night  it  was  certainly  no  easy 
task  to  proceed  through  this  inextri 
cable  chaos  of  rocks,  whose  rude  crests 
rose  above  immeasurable  abysses,  in 
the  bottom  of  which  an  invisible  stream 
could  be  heard  indistinctly  murmuring. 

One  false  step  was  mortal ;  still,  Val- 1 
entine  went  on  with  as  much  assurance  j 
as   if  he  were  walking  in  the  dazzling 
sunshine   along    the  finest  path  of  the 
prairie,  turning  to  the  right,  then  to  the  t 
left,  clambering   up  a  rock,  or  gliding 
along    an    almost    perpendicular  wall,  j 
without  once  hesitating,  or  turning  to  j 
his  comrades,  to  whom  he  merely  said 
at  times  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Courage." 

These  four  men  must  have  been  gift 
ed  with  hearts  of  bronze,  not  to  dis 
play  some  slight  weakness  during  this 
rude  journey,  in  regions  which  the 
eagle  itself  does  not  visit  without  hesi 
tation.  They  marched  thus  for  two 
hours,  without  exchanging  a  word  ;  and 
after  a  long  descent,  during  which  they 
had  twenty  times  run  a  risk  of  rolling 
to  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  Valentine 
made  his  companions  a  sign  to  stop. 

They  then  took  an  anxious  glance 
around  them :  they  found  themselves 
on  a  platform  of  about  ten  square 
yards,  all  around  being  gloom,  and  it 
hung  over  an  abyss  of  immeasurable 
depth.  The  mountain,  cut  asunder  as 
if  by  Roland's  sword,  was  separated 
into  two  portion?,  between  which  was 


a  yawning  gulf  about  twelve  or  fifteen 
yards  in  width. 

"  We  must  pass  over  this,"  Valen 
tine  said ;  "  you  have  ten  minutes  to 
draw  breath  and  prepare." 

"What,  across  here?"  Don  Miguel 
said  in  amazement :  "  why,  I  only  see 
precipices  on  both  sides." 

"  Well,"  the  hunter  replied,  "  we 
will  cross  it." 

The  haciendero  shook  his  head  des 
pond  ingly,  and  Valentine  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know  where  we  are  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  his  comrades  replied. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  he  continued  ; 
"  this  spot  is  mournfully  celebrated 
among  the  redskins  and  hunters  of  the 
prairie ;  perhaps  you  have  heard  its 
name  mentioned,  little  suspecting  that 
the  day  would  come  for  you  to  be  so 
near  it:  it  is  called  El  Mai  Paso,  osving 
to  that  enormous  canon  which  intersects 
the  mountain,  and  suddenly  intercepts 
ji  communication  with  the  opposite 
side." 

"  Well  ?"  Don  Miguel  asked. 

"  Well,"  Valentine  went  on,  "  some 
hours  back,  when  from  the  top  of  the 
peak  I  watched  the  two  travellers  we 
saw  at  a  distance  on  the  Santa  Fe  road, 
my  eye  settled  accidentally  on  the  Mai 
Paso ;  then  I  understood  that  a  chance 
of  salvation  was  left  us,  and  before  con 
fessing  ourselves  beaten,  we  must  try 
to  cross  it." 

"  Then,"  Don  Miguel  said,  with  a 
shudder,  "  you  are  resolved  to  make 
this  mad  attempt  ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  It  is  tempting  Heaven." 

"  No,  it  is  asking  for  a  miracle,  that 
is  all.  Believe  me,  my  friend,  God 
never  abandons  those  who  fully  trust  hi 
Him.  He  will  come  to  our  help." 

"  Still,"  the  haciendero  began ;  but 
Valentine  quickly  interrupted  him. 

"Enough,"  he  said;  "you  have 
sworn  to  obey  me.  I  have  sworn  to 
save  you ;  keep  your  oath  as  I  shall 
mine." 

His  comrades,  awed  by  Valentine, 
bowed  their  heads  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Brothers,"  the  hunter  said,  solemn 
ly,  "  let  us  pray  that  God  will  not  de 
sert  us." 


104 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


And,  giving  the  example,  he  fell  on 
his  knees  on  the  ruck,  his  comrades 
imitating  him.  At  the  end  of  a  mo 
ment,  Valentine  rose  again. 

"  Have  hope,"  he  said. 

The  hunter  then  walked  to  the  ex 
tremity  of  the  platform  and  bent  over 
the  abyss,  and  his  comrades  followed 
his  movements  without  comprehending 
them.  After  remaining  motionless  for 
some  minutes,  the  hunter  rejoined  his 
friends.  "All  goes  well,"  he  said. 

He  then  unfastened  his*  lasso  from  his 
belt,  and  coolly  began  rolling  it  round 
.his  right  hand. 

Curumilla  smiled  ;  he  had  compre 
hended  his  meaning,  and,  according  to 
his  wont,  without  speaking,  he  unfasten 
ed  his  lasso  and  imitated  his  friend. 

"  Good,"  Valentine  said  to  him,  with  a 
nod  of  approval;  "it's  our  turn,  chief." 

The  two  wood-rangers  put  forward 
their  right  legs,  threw  their  bodies  back 
to  get  a  balance,  and  whirled  their  las 
sos  round  their  heads  ;  at  an  agreed-on 
signal,  the  lassos  slipped  from  their 
hand  and  whizzed  through  the  air. 
Valentine  and  Curumilla  had  held  the 
end  of  the  rope  in  their  left  hand  ;  they 
pulled  at  them,  but,  in  spite  of  all  their 
efforts,  the  hunters  could  not  unloose 
them.  Valentine  uttered  a  shout  of 
joy,  for  he  had  succeeded  ;  he  connected 
the  two  lassos,  twisted  them  round  a 
rock,  and  fastened  them  securely,  then 
he  turned  to  his  comrades. 

"  Here  is  a  bridge,"  he  said. 

"  Ah !"  the  Mexicans  exclaimed, 
"  now  we  are  saved." 

These  men,  with  their  hearts  of 
bronze,  who  feared  no  danger,  and  re 
cognized  no  obstacle,  could  speak  thus, 
although  the  road  was  most  perilous. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  had  thrown 
their  lassos  round  a  rock  that  stood  on 
the  other  side  of  the  canon,  and  the 
running-knot  had  drawn.  In  this  way 
the  communication  was  established  ; 
but  the  bridge,  as  Valentine  called  it, 
merely  consisted  of  two  leathern  cords 
of  the  thickness  of  a  fore-finger,  stretched 
over  a  precipice  of  unknown  depth,  at 
least  fifteen  yards  in  width,  and  which 
must  be  crossed  by  the  strength  of  the 
wrists. 


Certainly,  before  crossing  this  strange 
bridge,  there  was  matter  for  reflection, 
even  to  the  bravest  man.  To  go  lit'teeu 
yards  hanging  thus  by  the  arms  over  an 
abyss  was  nut  tempting  this  gloomy 
night,  and  upon  a  rope  which  might 
break  or  become  unfastened.  The  hun 
ters  hesitated. 

"Well,"  Valentine  said  to  them, 
"  shall  we  be  off?" 

No  one  answered. 

"  That  is  true,"  the  hunter  said  with 
a  smile ;  "  you  wish  to  know  if  the 
bridge  be  firm.  Very  good." 

Then, with  that  calmness  usual  to  him 
the  hunter  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the 
barranca.  On  reaching  the  lasso,  he 
took  it  in  both  hands,  and  turned  to  his 
comrades. 

"  Look,"  he  said  with  that  careless 
ness  which  he  never  could  put  off;  "the 
sight  costs  nothing." 

And  gently,  without  hurrying,  with 
the  coolness  of  a  professor  giving  a  les 
son,  lie  crossed  the  canon  backwards, 
in  order  to  show  his  friends  how  they 
were  to  manage.  On  reaching  the  op 
posite  bank,  where  he  left  his  rifle,  he 
quietly  returned  to  his  friends — the  lat 
ter  had  anxiously  watched  him,  trem 
bling  involuntarily  at  the  danger  he  had 
incurred. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  when  he  remount 
ed  the  platform,  "  that  you  are  now 
quite  sure  the  lasso  is  firm,  and  you  will 
not  hesitate." 

Without  replying,  Curumilla  cross 
ed. 

"There's  one,"  Valentine  said  with  a 
laugh  ;s"  there  is  no  difficulty  about  it. 
Whose  turn  next  ?" 

"  Mine,"  Don  Pablo  answered. 

He  crossed. 

"  Now  it  is  my  turn,"  Don  Miguel 
said. 

"  Go,"  Valentine  replied. 

The  haciendero  soon  found  himself  on 
the  opposite  side  ;  only  two  men  re 
mained,  General  Ibanez  and  the  hunter. 

"  Come,"  Valentine  said,  "  it  is  your 
turn,  general ;  I  must  be  the  last  to 
pass." 

The  general  shook  his  head  despond- 

ingiy. 

"  1  cannot,"  he  said, 


T11E    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


105 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

EL    RASTREAUOR. 

VALKNTINB  fancied  he  hud  misunder 
stood  him. 

"  What!"  he  said,  as  he  leaned  over 
to  the  general. 

"  I  can  never  pass,"  he  answered. 

The  hunter  looked  at  him  in  astonish 
ment.  He  had  known  thegeneral  in  too 
many  critical  circumstances,  to  doubt 
his  courage. 

"  Why  so?"  he  asked  him. 

The  general  rose,  seized  his  arm,  and 
almost  placing  his  mouth  to  his  ear, 
whispered  in  a  low  voice  as  he  looked 
timidly  around  : 

**  Because  I  am  afraid." 

At  this  expression,  which  he  was  so 
far  from  expecting,  Valentine  gave  a 
start  of  surprise,  and  examining  his 
friend  with  the  utmost  attention,  so 
monstrous  did  what  he  had  just  heard 
appear  to  him  from  the  mouth  of  such 
a  man,  answered  : 

"  You  must  be  joking." 

"  No,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  I  am  afraid. 
Yes,  I  understand,"  he  added  a  moment 
later  with  a  sigh,  "  it  seems  strange  to 
you,  does  it  not,  that  I  should  say  so  ;  I, 
whom  you  have  seen  brave  the  greatest 
dangers  with  a  laugh,  and  whom,  up  to 
the  present,  nothing  has  surprised. 
What  would  you  have  ?  ray  friend,  it 
is  so,  1  am  afraid.  I  know  not  why,  but 
the  idea  of  crossing  that  barranca,  hold 
ing  on  by  my  hands  to  that  cord,  which 
may  break,  causes  me  a  ridiculous,  in 
vincible  terror  for  which  I  cannot  ac 
count,  and  which  makes  me  shudder 
with  terror.  That  death  seems  to  me 
hideous,  and  I  could  not  run  the  risk 
of  it." 

While  the  general  spoke,  the  hunter 
examined  him  with  the  closest  atten 
tion.  He  was  no  longer  the  same 
man  ;  his  forehead  was  livid,  a  cold 
perspiration  inundated  his  face,  a  con 
vulsive  tremor  agitated  all  his  limbs, 
and  his  voice  was  hollow. 

"  Nonsense !"  Valentine  said,  at 
tempting  to  smile,  "it  is  nothing;  a 
little  resolution,  and  you  will  overcome 
this  terror,  which  is  nothing  but  dizzi 
ness." 


"  I  know  not  what  it  is,  1  cannot  say  ; 
I  can  only  assure  you  that  I  have  done 
all  it  is  morally  possible  to  do,  in  order 
to  conquer  this  feeling  which  over 
powers  me.1' 

"  Well." 

"  All  has  been  useless  :  even  now,  I 
believe  that  my  terror  increases  with 
my  efforts  to  overcome  it." 

"  What !  you  who  are  so  brave  !" 

"  My  friend,''  the  general  answered 
with  a  sad  smile,  "  courage  is  an  affair 
of  the  nerves;  it  is  no  more  possible 
for  a  man  to  be  constantly  brave  than 
to  be  continually  a  coward  ;  there  are 
days  when  the  matter  overcomes  the 
intellect,  and  physical  feelings  gain  the 
upper  hand  over  the  moral.  On  those 
days  the  most  intrepid  man  is  afraid  ; 
and  this  is  one  of  those  days  with  me, 
that  is  all." 

"  Come,  my  friend,"  Valentine  an 
swered,  "reflect  a  little;  hang  it  all; 
you  cannot  remain  here — returning  is 
impossible ;  make  a  virtue  of  neces 
sity." 

"  All  you  say  to  me,"  the  general  in 
terrupted  him,  "I  have  said  to  myself; 
and  I  repeat  to  you,  that,  sooner  than 
venture  by  that  cord,  I  would  blow  out 
my  brains." 

"  Why,  that  is  madness,"  the  hunter 
shouted  ;  "  there  is  no  common  sense 
in  it." 

"  Call  it  what  you  like  ;  I  understand 
as  well  as  you  do  how  ridiculous  I  am, 
but  it  is  stronger  than  I  am." 

Valentine  stamped  his  foot  angrily  as 
he  looked  across  at  his  comrades,  who, 
collected  on  the  other  side  of  the  bar 
ranca,  knew  not  to  what  to  attribute 
this  incomprehensible  delay. 

"  Listen,  general,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment's  delay.  "  I  will  not  desert 
you  thus,  whatever  may  happen  ;  too 
many  reasons  connect  us  for  me  to 
leave  you  to  perish  of  hunger  on  this 
rock  ;  you  do  not  live  nearly  a  year 
with  a  man  in  the  desert,  sharing  with 
him  dangers,  cold  and  heat,  hunger  ard 
thirst,  to  separate  in  this  way.  It'  it  be 
really  impossible  for  you  to'  cross  the 
canon  as  your  comrades  have  done,  and 
will  leave  me  to  act,  I  will  find  other 
means." 

"Thanks,  my    friend,"   the    general 


106 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


sadly  replied,  as  he  pressed  his  hand  ; 
"  but  believe  me,  do  not  trouble  your 
self  about  me,  but  leave  me  here  :  your 
comrades  are  growing  impatient,  so 
pray  be  off  at  once." 

"  I  will  not  go,'<;  the  hunter  said  re 
solutely  ;  "  I  swear  that  you  shall  come 
with  me." 

"  No,  I  tell  you,  I  cannot." 

"Try." 

"  It  is  useless  ;  I  feel  that  my  heart 
fails  me.  Good-bye,  my  friend." 

Valentine  made  no  answer — he  was 
thinking.  After  an  instant  he  raised 
his  head,  and  his  face  was  radiant. 

"  By  Jove  !"  he  said,  gaily,  "  1  was 
certain  I  should  discover  a  way  before 
long.  Leave  me  alone,  I  answer  for 
everything.  You  shall  cross  as  if  in 
a  carriage." 

The  general  smiled. 

"  Brave  heart !"  he  muttered. 

"  Wait  for  me,"  Valentine  went 
on  ;  "  in  a  few  minutes  I  will  return, 
only  grant  me  the  time  to  prepare  what 
1  want." 

The  hunter  seized  the  rope  and  pass 
ed,  but  as  soon  as  the  general  saw  him 
on  the  other  side,  he  unfastened  the 
lasso  and  threw  it  across. 

"  What  are  you  doing? — Stop  !"  the 
hunters  shouted  in  stupor,  mingled 
with  horror. 

The  general  bent  over  the  barranca, 
holding  on  to  a  rock  with  his  left  hand. 

"  Red  Cedar  must  not  discover  your 
t*uil,"  he  said  ;  "  that  is  why  I  unf'as- 
ed  the  lasso.  Good-bye,  brother,  and 
may  the  Almighty  aid  you." 

An  explosion  was  heard,  echoed  in 
the  distance  by  the  mountains,  and  the 
general's  corpse  rolled  into  the  abyss, 
bounding  from  rock  to  rock  with  a  dull 
sound.  General  Ibanez  had  blown  out 
his  brains.  (This  episode,  incredible  as 
it  may  appear,  is  rigorously  true. 
G.  A.) 

At  this  unexpected  denouement  the 
hunters  were  petrified.  They  could  not 
understand  how,  through  the  fear  of 
killing  himself  in  crossing  the  canon, 
the  general  had  preferred  blowing  out 
his  brains.  Still,  the  action  was  logical 
in  itself;  it  was  not  death,  but  only  the 
mode  of  death  that  terrified  him  ;  and 
as  he  fancied  it  an  impossibility  to  fol 


low  his  comrades,  he  had  preferred  sud 
den  death.  Still,  in  dying,  the  brave 
general  had  rendered  them  a  final  and 
immense  service.  Thanks  to  him, 
their  trail  had  so  entirely  disappeared, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  Red 
Cedar  to  find  it  again. 

The  hunters,  although  they  had  suc 
ceeded  in  escaping  from  the  fat.-il  circle 
in  which  the  pirate  had  thrust  them, 
owing  to  Valentine's  daring  resolve, 
still  found  themselves  in  a  most  critical 
situation  :  they  must  get  down  into 
the  plain  as  speedily  as  possible,  in  or 
der  to  find  some  road,  and,  as  always 
happens  in  the  desert  under  such  cir 
cumstances,  every  sympathy  must 
promptly  yield  to  the  necessity  that 
held  them  in  its  iron  arms;  the  com 
mon  danger  suddenly  aroused  in  them 
that  feeling  of  self-preservation  which 
never  does  more  than  sleep. 

Valentine  was  the  first  to  overcome 
his  grief  and  regain  his  self-mastery. 
Since  he  had  been  crossing  the  desert, 
the  hunter  had  witnessed  so  many 
strange  scenes,  had  been  an  actor  in  so 
many  mournful  tragedies,  that,  his  ten 
der  feelings  were  considerably  blunted, 
and  the  most  terrible  events  affected 
him  but  slightly. 

Still,  Valentine  felt  a  deep  friendship 
for  the  general  ;  in  many  circumstan 
ces  he  had  appreciated  all  that  was 
really  grand  and  noble  in  his  character, 
hence  the  fearful  catastrophe  which  had, 
without  any  preparation,  broken  the 
ties  between  them,  produced  a  great 
impression  on  him. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head  as  if  to  get  rid  of  painful 
thoughts,  "  what  can't  be  cured  must 
be  endured.  Our  friend  has  left  us  for 
a  better  world, — perhaps  it  is  for  the 
best  so.  God  does  everything  well ; 
our  grief  will  not  restore  our  dear 
friend's  life,  so  let  us  think  of  ourselves, 
my  friends,  for  we  are  not  lying  on 
roses,  and  if  we  do  not  make  haste,  we 
may  run  a  risk  of  speedily  joining 
him.  Come,  let  us  be  men." 

Don  Miguel  Zarate  looked  at  him 
sadly. 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said ;  "  he  is  hap 
py  now;  let  us  attend  to  ourselves. 
Speak  then,  Valentine:  what  is  to  be 
done  1  we  are  ready." 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


107 


"Good,"  said  Valentine;  "  it  is  tim 
for  our  courage  to  return,  for  the  hare 
est  part  of  our  task  is  not  yet  done  ;  i 
is  nothing  to  have  crossed  that  barranc 
if  our  trail  can  be  found  here,  and  tha 
I  wish  to  avoid." 

"  Hum !"  Don  Pablo  remarked 
"  that  is  very  difficult,  not  to  say  im 
possible." 

"Nothing  is  impossible  with  strength 
courage,  and  skill.     Listen  attentively 
to  whut  1  am  about  to  say  to  you." 
"  We  will." 
"The   barranca,  on   this  side   of  the 
mountain,  is  not  peaked  as  it  is  on  th 
side  we  have  just  left." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Don  Miguel. 
"About  twenty  yards  below  us  you 
perceive  a  platform,  close  to  which  be 
gins  an  inextricable  forest,  descending 
to  the  end  of  the  precipice." 
"  Yes." 

"  That  is  our  road." 
"  What,  our  road,  my  friend  !"  Dor 
Miguel   objected ;  "  but   how   shall  we 
reach    the   platform    to  which    you  al 
lude  ?" 

"  In  the  easiest  way  :  I  will  let  you 
down  with  my  lasso." 

"  That  is  true ;  it  is  easy  for  us,  but 
bow  will  you  join  us  ?" 

"  That  need  not  trouble  you." 
"Very  good,"  Don  Miguel  remarked  ; 
"  but  now  permit  me  to  make  a   re 
mark." 
"  Do  so." 

"  Before  us,"  the  haciendero  said, 
stretching  out  his  hand,  "  is  a  readily 
traced  road,  most  convenient  to  follow, 
I  fancy." 

"  In  truth,"  Valentine  coldly  answer 
ed,  "  what  you  say  is  most  correct ;  but 
two  reasons  prohibit  my  taking  that 
road,  as  you  call  it." 

"  And  those  two  reasons  are  1" 
"  First,  that  ready  traced  road  is  so 
easy  to  follow  that  I  am  certain  Red 
Cedar's  suspicions  will  be  directed  to  it 
at  once,  if  the  demon  allows  him  to 
come  here." 

"  And  the  second  ?"  Don  Miguel  in 
terrupted. 

"  Is  this,"  Valentine  went  on  :  "  in 
addition  to  the  incontestible  advantages 
the  road  I  propose  offers,  I  do  not  wish, 
and  I  feel  sure  you  are  of  the  same  opi 


nion,  that  the  body  of  my  poor  com 
rade,  who  has  rolled  to  ttoe  foot  of  the 
precipice,  should  remain  unburied  and 
become  the  prey  of  wild  beasts.  That 
is  my  second  reason,  Don  Miguel ; 
what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

The  haciendero  felt   his   heart  dilate 
at  these  noble  words ;  the  tears-  sprung^ 
from  his  eyes  and  rolled  silently  down 
his   cheeks.      He    seized    the    hunter's 
hand,  and  pressed  it  forcibly. 

"  Valentine,"  he  said,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  you  are  better  than  all  of  us ; 
your  noble  heart  is  filled  with  every 
great  and  generous  feeling ;  thanks  for 
your  good  idea,  my  friend." 

"  It  is  agreed,  then,"  the  hunter  sim 
ply  said  in  response ;  "  we  will  go." 

u  Whenever  you  please." 

"  Good  ;  but  as  the  night  is  dark, 
and  the  road  rather  dangerous,  Curu- 
milla,  who  has  long  been  used  to  the 
desert,  will  go  first  to  ^show  you  the 
way.  Come,  chief,  are  you  ready  ?" 

The  Ulmen  nodded  his  assent. 

Valentine  leant  his  whole  weight 
against  a  rock,  twisted  the  lasso  twice 
round  his  body,  and  let  the  end  fall  in 
to  the  chasm  ;  then,  he  made  the  chief 
a  sign  to  go  down. 

The  latter  did  not  let  the  invitation 
be  repeated ;  he  seized  the  rope  in  both, 
bands ;  and  placing  his  feet  in  crevices 
in  tiie  rocks,  he  gradually  descended  till 
le  reached  the  platform. 

The  haciendero  and  his  sou  attentive- 
y  followed  the  Indian's  movements. 
When  they  saw  him  safe  on  the  rock, 
they  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  prepared 
to  follow  him,  which  they  did  without 
accident. 

Valentine   remained     alone ;     conse 
quently,  no  one    could    hald   the    lasso 
and  render  him  the  service  he  had  done 
lis   comrades ;  but  he   was  not  embar 
rassed    by   so    trivial   a    circumstance. 
le  passed  the    rope  round   a   rock,  so 
hat  both  ends  were  even,  then  slowly 
lescended  in  his  turn,  and  safely  rejoin- . 
d  his  comrades,  who  were  startled  and 
tihtened   at   such   a   daring   descent. 

n  he  let  go  the  end  of  the  lasso,  drew 
t  to  him,  rolled  it  up,  and  fastened  it 
o  his  girdle. 

"  I   believe,"  he  said  with    a   smile, 
that  if  we  go  on  thus,  Red  Cedar  will 


108 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


have  some  difficulty  in  finding  our  trail, 
while  we,  on  the  contrary,  may  find  his. 
Come  let  us  now  take  a  look  at  our  do 
main,  and  see  a  little  where  we  are." 

And  he  at  once  began  walking  round 
the  platform.  It  was  much  larger  than 
the  one  they  had  just  left,  and  at  its 
extremity  began  the  virgin  forest, 
which  descended  with  a  gentle  incline 
to  the  bottom  of  the  barranca. 

When  Valentine  hud  examined  the 
place,  he  returned  to  his  comrades, 
shaking  his  head. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  Don  Pablo 
asked;  "have  you  seen  anything  sus 
picious  ?" 

"  Hum  !"  Valentine  answered  ;  "  I  am 
greatly  mistaken,  or  the  lair  of  a  ^wild 
beast  is  somewhere  close  by." 

"  A  wild  beast !"  Don  Miguel  ex 
claimed;  "  what,  at  this  elevation  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  it  is  that  very  fact  which 
makes  me  anxious  ;  the  traces  are  wide 
and  deep.  Look  for  yourself,  Curumil- 
la,"  he  added,  tucuing  to  the  Indian,  and 
pointing  at  the  spot  where  he  should 
proceed. 

Without  replying,  the  Ulmen  stoop 
ed  down,  and  attentively  examined  the 
foot-prints. 

"  What  animal  do  you  think  we  have 
to  deal  with?"  Don  Miguel  asked. 

"A  grizzly,"  Valentine  answered. 

The  grizzly  bear  is  the  most  terri 
ble  and  justly-feared  animal  in  America* 

The  Mexicans  could  not  repress  a  start 
of  terror  on  hearing  the  name  of  this 
terrible  adversary  pronounced. 

"  But  here's  the  chief  returning," 
Valentine  added.  "  All  our  doubts  will 
be  cleared  up.  Well,  chief,  to  what 
does  that  sign  belong  ?" 

"  Grizzly,"  Curumilla  laconically  an 
swered. 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  Valentine; 
"  and  what  is  more,  the  animal  is 
large." 

"  Very  large  ;  the  footmarks  are 
eight  inches  wide." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  Don  Miguel  said,  "  we 
have  a  rough  companion  in  that  case. 
But  in  what  state  is  the  sign,  chief  ?" 

"  Quite  fresh ;  the  animal  passed 
scarce  an  hour  ago." 

"  By  Jove!"  Valentine  suddenly 
shouted,  "  here  is  its  lair." 


And  he  pointed  to  a  large  yawning  hole 
in  the  mountain  side. 

The  hunters  gave  a  start. 

"  Gentlemen,"  Valentine  went  on, 
"you  are  no  more  anxious  than  myself 
to  measure  your  strength  with  a  grizzly, 
I  suppose." 

"Certainly  not,"  the  Mexican  ex 
claimed. 

"  If  you  will  follow  my  advice  we 
will  not  remain  any  longer  here  ;  the 
animal,  I  suspect,  has  gone  down  to 
drink,  and  will  speedily  return  ;  let  us 
not  wait  for  it,  but  profit  by  its  absence 
to  be  off." 

The  three  men  enthusiastically  ap 
plauded  the  hunter's  proposal ;  for,  al 
though  of  tried  bravery,  the  contest  ap 
peared  to  them  so  disproportionate 
with  this  redoubtable  adversary,  that 
they  did  not  at  all  desire  to  come  face 
to  face  with  it. 

"  Let  us  be  off,"  they  eagerly  shout 
ed. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  breaking 
branches  was  audible  in  the  forest,  and 
a  formidable  growling  troubled  the  si« 
lence  of  night. 

"  It  is,  too  late,"  Valentine  said  j 
"  here  is  the  enemy,  the  fight  will  be  a 
tough  one." 

The  hunters  leaned  against  the  wall 
of  rock,  side  by  side,  and  in  a  few  mo 
ments  the  hideous  head  of  the  grizzly 
appeared  among  the  trees  on  a  level 
with  the  platform. 

"  We  are  lost,"  Don  Miguel  mutter 
ed  as  he  cocked  his  rifle ;  "  for  any 
flight  from  this  rock  is  impossible." 

"  Who  knows?"  Valentine  answered. 
"  Heaven  has  done  so  much  for  us  up 
to  the  present,  that  we  should  be  un 
grateful  to  suppose  that  we  shall  be 
abandoned  in  this  new  peril." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE    CAMP    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS. 

ON  leaving  the  jacal,  Red  Cedar  pro 
ceeded  towards  the  mountains.  The 
squatter  was  one  of  those  old  hands  to 
whom  all  the  tracks  of  the  desert  are 
known.  From  the  few  words  uttered 


TI1E    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


by  Father  Seraphin,  and  the  haste  he 
had  shown  in  coining  to  warn  him,  Red 
Cedar  understood  that  this  time  the 
final  contest  was  about  to  begin,  with 
out  truce  or  pity,  in  which  his  enemies 
would  employ  all  their  knowledge  and 
skill  to  finish  .with  him  once  for  all. 

He  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
reach  the  Sierra  de  los  Cornanches  soon 
enough  to  be  able  to  efface  his  trail. 
During  a  month  he  and  Valentine  had 
carried  on  one  of  those  incredible  cam 
paigns  of  skill  and  boldness  in  which 
each  employed  every  scheme  his  fertile 
mind  suggested  to  deceive  his  adver 
sary. 

As  frequently  happens  under  such 
circumstances,  Red  Cedar,  who  at  the 
outset  only  accepted  unwillingly  the 
struggle  into  which  he  was  forced,  had 
gradually  felt  his  old  woodranger  in 
stincts  aroused.  His  pride  had  been 
excited,  for  he  knew  he  had  to  deal 
with  Valentine,  that  is  to  say,  the 
cleverest  hunter  on  the  prairie,  and  he 
had  consequently  displayed  a  degree  of 
skill  that  surprized  himself,  in  order  to 
prove  to  his  terrible  adversary  that  he 
was  not  unworthy  of  him. 

For  a  whole  month  the  two  had  been 
unsuccessfully  manoeuvring  within  a 
circle  of  less  than  ten  leagues,  constant 
ly  turning  round  one  another,  and  often 
only  separated  by  a  screen  of  foliage, 
or  a  ravine.  But  this  contest  must 
have  an  end  sooner  or  later,  Red  Cedar 
felt,  and  being  no  longer  sustained  by 
the  same  passions  which  formerly  serv 
ed  as  the  motive  of  all  his  actions, 
despondency  was  beginning  to  seize 
upon  him,  the  more  so,  because  physi 
cal  pain  had  been  recently  joined  to  his 
moral  sufferings,  and  threatened  to  deal 
him  the  final  blow. 

Let  us  see  in  what  condition  Red 
Cedar  was  at  the  moment  when  the  ex 
igencies  of  our  story  compel  us  to  re 
turn  to  him. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening;  three  men  and  a  girl,  assem 
bled  round  a  scanty  fire  of  bois  de 
vache,  were  warming  themselves,  and, 
at  times,  casting  a  dull  glance  at  the 
gloomy  gorges  of  the  surrounding 
mountains. 


These  four  persons  were  Nathan, 
Sutler,  Fray  Ambrosio,  and  EJen. 

The  spot  where  they  found  them 
selves  was  one  of  those  narrow  ravines, 
the  bed  of  dried  torrents,  so  many  of 
which  are  met  with  in  the  Sieriv  de  los 
Comanches.  On  the  flanks  of  the  ra 
vine  was  a  thick  chapparal,  the  com 
mencement  of  a  gloomy  virgin  forest, 
from  the  mysterious  depths  of  which 
could  be  heard  at  intervals  the  length 
ened  howling  and  roar  of  wild  beasts. 

The  situation  of  the  fugitives  was 
most  critical,  and  even  desperate.  Shut 
up  for  a  month  amid  these  arid  moun 
tains,  tracked  on  all  sides,  they  had 
hitherto  only  escaped  their  persecutors 
through  the  immense  sacrifices  and  the 
prodigious  craft  displayed  by  Red 
Cedar.  The  pursuit  had  been  so  ac 
tive,  that,  being  constantly  on  the  point 
of  being  surprised  by  their  enemies, 
they  did  not  dare  kill  the  few  head  of 
game  they  came  across.  A  shot,  by 
revealing  the  direction  in  which  they 
were,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  be 
tray  them. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  scanty  stock 
of  food  they  had  brought  with  them 
from  the  jacal,  in  spite  of  their  saving, 
had  been  consumed,  and  hunger,  but 
before  all,  thirst,  was  beginning  to  be 
felt. 

Of  all  the  scourges  that  afflict  hap 
less  travelers,  thirst  is  indubitably  the 
most  terrible.  Hunger  may  be  endur 
ed  during  a  certain  length  of  time, 
without  excessive  suffering,  especially 
at  the  end  of  a  few  days ;  but  thirst 
occasions  atrocious  pain,  which,  after  a 
while,  produces  a  species  of  furious 
madness;  the  palate  is  parched,  the 
throat  is  on  fire,  the  eyes  are  suffused 
with  blood,  and  the  wretched  man,  a 
prey  to  a  horrible  delirium,  which 
makes  him  see  the  desired  water  every 
where,  at  length  dies  in  atrocious 
agony,  which  nothing  can  calm. 

When  their  provisions  were  exhaust 
ed,  they  were  compelled  to  procure 
others  ;  but  in  the  mountains  that  was 
almost  impossible,  as  the  fugitives  were 
deprived  of  their  freedom  of  action. 
For  a  few  days  they  continued  to  sup 
port  life  on  roots,  and  small  birds 


110 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


caught  in  a  snare ;  but  unfortunately, 
the  cold  became  daily  sharper,  and  the 
birds  withdrew  to  warmer  regions ; 
hence  they  were  deprived  of  this  re 
source. 

The  little  water  remaining  was  by 
common  agreement  reserved  Tor  Ellen. 
The  maiden  declined  to  accept  this  sa 
crifice,  but  thirst  grew  upon  her  with 
every  moment,  and,  overcome  by  the 
entreaties  of  her  companions,  she 
eventually  accepted  it. 

The  others  found  no  other  way  of 
quenching  the  thirst  that  .  devoured 
them,  than  slitting  the  ears  of  their 
horses  and  drinking  the  blood  as  it  ran. 

Nexi,  they  killed  a  horse,  for  the 
poor  brutes  found  no  more  food  than 
did  their  masters.  The  roasted  flesh 
of  this  horse  enabled  them  to  pass  a 
few  days :  in  short,  all  four  horses 
were  eaten  one  after  the  other. 

Now,  nothing  was  left  the  adven 
turers,  and  for  two  days  they  had  noth 
ing  to  eat. 

Hence  they  maintained  a  mournful 
silence,  exchanging  stern  glances,  and 
plunging  deeper  and  deeper  into  sinis 
ter  reflections. 

They  felt  their  senses  gradually  leav 
ing  them  and  madness  seizing  on  them  ; 
they  felt  the  moment  approaching  when 
they  would  be  no  longer  masters  of 
their  reason,  and  become  the  prey  of 
the  fearful  calenture,  which  already 
pressed  their  temples  as  in  a  vice,  and 
made  the  most  startling  images  glitter 
before  their  fever-dried  eyes. 

It  was  a  heart-breaking  sight  to  see 
these  three  men,  round  the  expiring 
fire,  in  this  stern  desert,  lying  without 
strength  and  almost  without  courage  by 
the  side  of  the  maiden,  who,  with  clasp 
ed  hands  and  downcast  eyes,  prayed  in 
a  low  voice. 

Time  passed ;  the  wind  howled 
mournfully  in  the  quebradas ;  the  moon, 
half  veiled  by  a  mass  of  vapor,  only 
emitted  at  intervals  its  pallid  rays, 
which  fantastically  illumined  the  scene 
of  desolation,  whose  sinister  silence  was 
only  disturbed  by  a  suppressed  oath  or 
a  groan  drawn  forth  by  pain. 

Ellen  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
compassionately  at  her  companions. 

"Courage,"    she   murmured   in    her 


gentle  voice,  "  courage,  brothers  !  God 
cannot  abandon  us  thus." 

A  nervous  groan  was  the  only  reply 
she  obtained. 

"  Alas  !"  she  continued,  "  instead  of, 
then  yielding  to  despair,  why  not  pray, 
brothers?  it  gives  strength  and  restores 
hope." 

"  Will  it  quench  the  thirst  that 
parches  my  throat  ?"  the  monk  asked, 
brutally,  as  he  rose  with  an  eftbrt  on  his 
elbow  and  gave  her  a  furious  glance. 
"  Silence  !  you  foolish  child,  if  you  have 
no  other  help  than  your  silly  words  to 
give  us." 

"  Silence,  villain  !"  Sutler  interrupted 
him  with  a  groan,  "  do  not  insult  my 
sister ;  she  alone  may  perchance  save 
us  ;  for  if  God  have  pity  on  us,  it  will 
be  for  her  sake." 

"Ah!"  the  monk  said,  with  a  hide 
ous  grin,  "  now  you  believe  in  God,  my 
master.  You  must  fancy  yourself  very 
near  death  to  be  so  frightened  ?  (rod~! 
you  poor  fool,  rejoice  that  there  is  none, 
instead  of  calling  on  Him  for  help  ;  for 
if  He  really  existed,  He  would  have 
crushed  you  long  ago." 

"  Well  said,  monk,"  Nathan  remark 
ed.  "  Come,  let  us  have  peace.  If  we 
are  to  die  here  like  the  dogs  we  are,  let 
us  die,  at  any  rate,  pleasantly.  That  is 
not  asking  too  much  I  suppose?" 

"  Oh,  how  I  suffer  !"  Sutler  muttered, 
as  he  rolled  wildly  on  the  ground. 

Eilen  got  up,  gently  approached  her 
brother,  and  putting  to  his  lips  the 
mouth  of  the  skin,  in  which  a  little 
water  yet  remained,  she  bade  him  drink. 

The  young  man  made  a  movement  as 
if  to  seize  the  skin ;  l>ut  at  the  same  in 
stant  he  repulsed  it,  shaking  his  head  in 
refusal. 

"No,"  he  replied,  mournfully,  "keep 
that,  sister:  you  would  give  me  your 
life." 

"  Drink,  I  insist,"  she  said,  authori- 
tively. 

"  No,"  he  answered  firmly,  "  that 
would  be  cowardly.  I  am  a  man,  sis 
ter  ;  I  can  suffer." 

Ellen  understood  that  her  entreaties 
would  be  useless,  for  she  knew  the  su 
perstitious  affection  her  brothers  bore 
her ;  hence  she  returned  to  the  fire, 
She  sat  down,  took  three  bufFalo-horu 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


Ill 


cups,  which  she  filled  with  water,  and 
placed  before  her;  then  she  took  a 
sharp  pointed  knife,  and  turning  to  the 
three  men,  who  were  anxiously  watch 
ing  her,  she  said : 

"  Here  is  water,  drink.  I  swear 
that  if  you  do  not  instantly  obey  me, 
I  will  slit  the  skin  in  which  the  little 
stock  of  water  is  left ;  all  will  then  be 
lost,  and  I  shall  suffer  the  same  pains 
as  you  do." 

The  men  made  no  answer,  but  look 
ed  at  each  other. 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  drink 
or  not  ?"  she  cried,  as  she  placed  the 
point  of  the  knife  on  the  skin. 

"  Stay,"  the  monk  shouted,  as  he 
rose  and  rushed  towards  her.  "  De- 
raouios  !  she  would  do  as  she  said." 

And  seizing  a  cup,  he  emptied  it  at  a 
draught,  his  companions  following  his 
example.  This  mouthful  of  water — 
for  the  cups  were  very  small — sufficed, 
however  to  calm  their  irritation — the 
fire  that  burned  them  was  extinguished, 
they  breathed  more  easily,  and  gave 
vent  to  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  as  they 
fell  back  on  the  ground. 

An  angelic  smile  lit  up  the  maiden's 
radiant  face. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  all  is  not  lost 
yet." 

"  Come,  come,  Nina,"  the  monk  re 
marked,  tranquilly,  "  why  lull  us  with 
foolish  hopes  ?  the  drop  of  water  you 
have  given  us  can  only  check  our  suf 
ferings  for  a  little  while ;  within  an 
hour  our  thirst  will  be  more  ardent  and 
terrible  than  ever." 

"  Do  you  know  what  Heaven  may  re 
serve  for  you  between  this  and  then  ]" 
she  asked,  softly.  "  A  respite,  however 
short  it  may  be,  is  in  your  position 
everything  ;  all  depends  for  you,  not 
on  the  present  moment,  but  on  the 
coming  one." 

"  Good,  good  !  we'll  not  dispute  after 
the  service  you  have  rendered  us, 
Nina  ;  still,  everything  seems  to  prove 
you  wrong." 

"  How  so  r 

"  Why,  Caspita,  what  I  say  is  very 
easy  to  understand  ;  without  going  fur 
ther,  your  father,  who  pledged  his  word 
never  to  desert  us " 

"  Well  ?" 


"  Where  is  he?  Since  daybreak  he 
has  left  us  to  go — the  deuce  alone 
knows  where  ?  night  has  long  set  in, 
and,  and  as  you  see,  he  has  not  return 
ed. 

"  What  does  that  prove  ?" 

"  Canarios  !  that  he  has  gone  away, 
that  is  all." 

"  Do  you  believe  it,  Senor  ?" 

"1  am  sure  of  it,  Nina." 

Ellen  gave  a  contemptuous  look. 

"  Senor,"  she  haughtily  answered, 
"you  do  not  know  my  father  if  you 
consider  him  capable  of  such  coward 
ice." 

"  Hum  !  in  our  position  he  would  al 
most  have  an  excuse  for  doing  so." 

"  He  might  have  done  so,  perhaps," 
she  went  on,  quickly,  "  if  he  had  no 
other  comrade  but  yourself,  cabal lero  ; 
but  he  would  leave  his  children  here, 
and  he  is  not  the  man  to  abandon  them 
when  in  danger." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  monk  said,  with 
humility;  "1  did  not  think  of  that,  so 
forgive  me.  Still,  you  will  permit  me 
to  remark  that  it  is  an  extraordinary 
thing  your  father  has  not  yet  return 
ed?" 

"  Well,  Senor,"  the  maiden  said, 
warmly,  "  although  you  are  so  ready 
to  accuse  a  friend,  who  has  constantly 
offered  you  the  most  unequivocal 
proofs  of  his  unknown  devotion,  how 
do  you  know  that  he  is  not  delayed  by 
his  desire  to  save  us  ?" 

"  Well  spoken,  by  Heaven !"  a 
rough  voice  said;  "thank  you,  my 
daughter." 

The  adventurers  turned  with  an  in 
voluntary  start ;  at  this  moment  the 
bushes  were  parted  by  a  firm  hand,  :i 
heavy  step  sounded  on  the  pebbles,  and 
Red  Cedar  appeared,  bearing  a  doe  on 
his  shoulder.  On  reaching  the  light  of 
the  fire  he  stopped,  threw  his  burden 
the  ground,  and  looked  sarcastically 
around  him. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  he  said,  with  a  grin,  "  it 
seems  that  1  have  arrived  just  in  time, 
Senor  Padre.  Viva  Dios !  you  were 
giving  me  a  fine  character  in  my  ab 
sence  ;  is  that  the  way  in  which  you  un 
derstand  Christian  chanty,  gossip? 
Cristo  !  I  do  not  compliment  you  on  it, 
if  that  be  the  case." 


112 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


The  monk,  startled  by  the  sudden 
appearance  and  rough  address,  found  no 
answer,  so  Red  Cedar  went  on  : 

"  By  Jove  !  I  am  a  better  fellow  than 
yourself,   for    I  bring  you  food,  and  it 
was  not  without  difficulty  that  I  succeed 
ed  in  killing  that  confounded   animal, 
can  tell  you.     But  now  look  sharp  and 
roast  a  joint." 

Sutler  and.  Nathan  had  not  waited  for 
her  father's  orders,  but  had  already  be 
gun  skinning  the  doe. 

"  Hilloh  !"  Nathan  remarked,  "  to 
roast  this  meat,  we  must  enlarge  our 
fire  ;  and  how  about  our  pursuers  ?" 

"  It  is  a  risk  to  run,"  Red  Cedar  re 
plied  ;  "  settle  among  ourselves  if  you 
•will  incur  it." 

"  What  is  your  opinion?"  the  monk 
asked. 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference 
to  me ;  but  I  wish  you  to  understand 
one  thing,  once  for  all,  as  I  am  intima 
tely  convinced  that  we  shall  fall  into 
the  hands  of  our  pursuers,  I  care  very 
little  whether  it  happen  to-day  or  in  a 
week's  time." 

"  Confusion  !  You  are  not  at  all  en 
couraging,  gossip,"  Fray  Arnbrossio 
exclaimed.  "  Have  you  lost  your 
courage  too,  or  discovered  any  suspi 
cious  trail  ?" 

"  My  courage  never  fails  me  ;  I  know 
very  well  the  fate  reserved  for  me,  and 
hence  my  mind  is  made  up.  As  for 
suspicious  signs,  as  you  say,  a  man 
must  be  blind  not  to  see  them." 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope,"  the  three 
men  said,  with  ill-disguised  terror. 

"  On  my  honor  I  do  not  think  there 
is ;  but,"  he  added,  with  a  mocking  ac 
cent,  "  why  do  you  not  roast  the  meat  ? 
You  must  be  almost  dead  of  hunger." 

'•That  is  true  ;  but  what  you  tell  us 
has  taken  away  our  appetite,"  Fray  Am- 
brosio  remarked,  sadly. 

Ellen  rose,  approached  the  squatter, 
and  laying  her  hand  softly  on  his  shoul 
der,  placed  her  charming  face  close  to 
his. 

Red  Cedar  smiled. 

"  What  do  you  want,  my  girl  ?"  he 
asked  her. 

"  I  wish,  father,"  she  said,  in  a  coax 
ing  voice,  "  that  you  should  save  us." 

"  Save  you,  poor  child,"  he  said,  as 


he  shook  his  h  ad  gravely,  "  1  am  afraid 
that  is  impossible.' 

"Then,"  she  continued,  "you  will 
let  us  fall  into  the  hands  of  our  ene 
mies  ?" 

The  squatter  shuddered. 

"  Oh  !  do  not  say  that,  Ellen,"  he 
replied,  hoarsely. 

"  Still,  my  father,  as  you  cannot  help 
us  to  escape — " 

Red  Cedar  passed  the  back  of  his 
"hard  hand  over  his  dark  forehead. 

"Listen,"  he  said  presently,  "there 
is  perhaps  one  way — " 

"  What  is  it?"  the  three  men  said, 
eagerly,  as  they  collected  round  hirn. 

"  It  is  very  precarious,  dangerous, 
and  probably  will  not  succeed." 

"Tell  it  us  for  all  that,"  the  monk 
pressed  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  speak  father,"  Ellen  urged 
him. 

"You  desire  it?" 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Very  well,  then,  listen  to  me  atten 
tively,  for  the  means  I  am  about  to  pro 
pose,  strange  as  they  may  at  first  ap 
pear  to  you,  offer  a  chance  of  success, 
which,  in  our  desperate  situation,  must 
not  be  despised." 

"  Speak,  pray  speak  !"  the  monk  said 
impatiently. 

Red  Cedar  looked  at  him  with  a  grin. 

"  You  are  in  a  precious  hurry,"  he 
said ;  "  perhaps  you  will  not  be  so  pre 
sently." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A     GAME     AT      HAZARD. 

"  BEFORE  explaining  my  plan  to  you," 
Red  Cedar  went  on,  "  I  must  tell  you 
what  our  position  really  is,  so  that  when 
[  have  described  the  means  I  wish  to 
mploy,  you  can  decide  with  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  facts." 

His  hearers  gave  a  nod  of  assent,  but 
no  one  made  an  answer. 

The  squatter  continued  : 

"  We  are  surrounded  on  three  sides  : 
irstly,  by  the  Comanches,  next  by 
Bloodsi m's  rangers,  and  lastly  by  the 
French  hunter  and  his  friends.  \Veak- 
ned  as  we  are  by  the  terrible  priva 
tions  we  have  suffered  since  we  came 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


113 


into  the  mountains,  any  contest  is  im 
possible  ;  we  must,  therefore,  give  up 
all  hope  of  opening  a  passage  by  force." 

"What  is  to  be  done,  then?"  the 
monk  asked ;  "  it  is  plain  that  we  must 
escape,  and  each  second  that  slips  away 
renders  our  prospects  worse." 

"lam  as  fully  convinced  of  that  as 
you  can  be.  My  absence  to-day  had  a 
double  object ;  the  first  was  to  obtain 
provisions,  in  which,  as  you  see,  I  suc 
ceeded " 

"That  is  true." 

"  Secondly,  to  reconnoitre  carefully 
the  positions  held  by  our  enemies." 

"  Well  ?"  they  asked  anxiously. 

"  1  have  succeeded.  I  advanced  un 
noticed  close  to  their  camps  ;  they  keep 
a  good  watch,  and  it  would  be  madness 
to  try  and  pass  through  them  ;  they 
form  a  wide  circle  around  us,  of  which 
we  are  the  centre ;  this  circle  is  being 
daily  contracted,  so  that  in  two  or  three 
days,  perhaps  before,  we  shall  find  our 
selves  so  pressed  that  it  will  be  impos 
sible  to  hide  ourselves,  and  we  must 
fall  into  their  hands." 

"  Demonios !"  Fray  Ambrosio  ex 
claimed,  "  that  is  anything  but  a  plea 
sant  prospect;  we  have  no  mercy  to 
expect  from  these  villains,  who  will,  on 
the  contrary,  find  a  pleasure  in  tortur 
ing  us  in  every  way  possible.  Hum! 
the  mere  thought  of  falling  into  their 
hands  makes  my  flesh  creep ;  I  know 
what  the  Indians  are  capable  of  in  tor 
turing,  for  I  have  seen  them  at  work 
often  enough." 

"  Very  good ;  I  will  not  press  that 
point  then." 

"  It  would  be  perfectly  useless.  You 
will  do  better  to  explain  to  us  the  plan 
you  have  formed,  and  which,  as  you 
say,  can  save  us." 

"  Pardon  me  !  I  did  not  offer  you  any 
certainty ;  I  merely  said  that"  it  had 
some  chances  of  success." 

"  We  are  not  in  a  position  to  quibble 
about  words ;  let  us  have  your  scheme." 

"  It  is  this " 

The  three  men  listened  with  the  deep 
est  attention. 

"  It  is  evident,"  Red  Cedar  went  on, 
"  that  if  we  remain  together,  and  try  to 
fly  in  one  direction,  we  shall  be  infalli 
bly  lost,  supposing,  as  is  certain,  that  i 
8 


our   trail    is   discovered   by   our    pur 
suers." 

"  Very  well,''  the  monk  growled ; 
"go  ahead  ;  I  do  not  exactly  understand 
what  you  want  to  come  at." 

"  I  have,  therefore,  reflected  on  this 
inconvenience,  and  I  have  formed  the 
following  scheme. " 

"  Out  with  it." 

"It  is  very  simple  j  we  will  make  a 
double  trail." 

"  Hum  !  1  suppose  you  mean  a  false 
and  a  true  one.  The  plan  seems  to  me 
defective." 

"Why  so?"  Red  Cedar  asked  with  a 
smile. 

"  Because  there  must  be  a  point 
where  the  false  trail  runs  into  the  real 
one,  and " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  gossip,"  Red  Ce 
dar  sharply  interrupted  him  ;  "  both 
trails  will  be  true,  otherwise  the  idea 
would  be  absurd." 

"  In  that  case,  I  do  not  understand 
you." 

"  You  soon  will,  if  you  will  allow  me 
to  speak.  One  of  us  will  devote  him 
self  to  save  the  others  ;  while  we  fly  in 
one  direction,  he  will  go  on  another,  try 
ing  to  draw  the  enemy  on  his  trail. 
In  this  way,  he  wiil  open  us  a  passage, 
through  which  we  shall  pass,  without 
being  discovered.  Do  you  understand 
me  now  ?" 

"  Caspita  !  I  should  think  I  did — the 
idea  is  magnificent,"  the  monk  exclaim 
ed  enthusiastically. 

"  All  now  wanted  is  to  carry  it  out.'' 

"  Yes,  without  any  delay." 

"  Very  good  !  who  will  sacrifice  him 
self  to  save  his  comrades  ?" 

No  one  answered. 

"  What,"  Red  Cedar  went  on,  "are 
you  all  silent  ?  Come,  Fray  Ambrosio, 
you  are  a  priest,  so  give  us  an  exam 
ple." 

"Thank  you,  gossip,  but  I  never  felt 
any  call  to  martyrdom.  I  am  not  at 
all  ambitious." 

"  Still,  we  must  get  out  of  this 
scrape." 

"  Caramba  !  I  wish  for  nothing  bet 
ter  ;  still,  1  am  not  desirous  that  it 
should  be  at  the  expense  of  my  scalp." 

Red  Cedar  reflected  for  an  instant. 

The  adventurers  looked  at  him  aux- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


iously,  waiting  till  he  had  found  the  so 
lution  of  this  difficult  problem. 

All  at  once  the  squatter  raised  his 
head. 

"  Hum  !"  he  said,  "  any  discussion 
would  be  useless,  for  you  are  not  the 
men  to  be  led  by  your  feelings." 

They  nodded  their  assent. 

"  This  is  what  we  will  do  ;  we  will 
draw  lots  who  shall  devote  himself;  the 
one  on  whom  it  devolves  will  obey 
without  a  murmur.  Does  that  suit 
you  ?" 

"  As  we  must  bring  matters  to  an 
end,"  said  Nathan,  "  why,  the  sooner 
the  better  ;  that  way  is  as  good  as  an 
other,  so  I  do  not  object." 

"  Nor  I,"  Sutter  remarked. 

"  Nonsense  !"  the  monk  exclaimed  ; 
"  1  was  always  lucky  at  games  of 
chance." 

"  It  is  settled  then ;  you  swear  that 
the  man  on  whom  the  lot  falls,  will  obey 
without  hesitation,  and  accomplish  his 
task  honourably  ?" 

"  We  swear  it,"  they  said  with  one 
voice  ;  "  come,  Red  Cedar,  let  us  have 
it  over." 

"  Yes  ;  but  in  what  way  shall  we 
consult  chance  T'  Red  Cedar  observed. 

"  That  need  not  trouble  you,  gossip," 
Fray  Ambrosio  said  with  a  laugh  ;  "  I 
am  a  man  of  caution." 

While  speaking  thus,  the  monk  fum 
bled  in  his  vaquera  boots,  and  produced 
a  greasy  pack  of  cards. 

"  These  will  do  the  trick,"  he  went 
on  with  a  triumphant  air.  "  This  pret 
ty  child,"  he  added,  turning  to  Ellen, 
"  will  shuffle  the  cards  ;  one  of  us  will 
cut  them,  and  then  she  will  deal  the 
cards  one  by  one,  and  the  man  who  has 
the  two  of  spades  will  have  to  make  the 
double  trail.  Does  that  suit  you  ?" 

"  Admirably,"  they  replied. 

Ellen  took  the  cards  from  the  monk 
and  shuffled  them,  while  a  zarape  was 
laid  on  the  ground  by  the  fire,  so  that 
the  color  of  the  cards  might  be  distin 
guished  by  the  flame. 

"  Cut,"  she  said,  placing  the  pack  on 
the  zarape. 

Fray  Ambrosio  thrust  out  his  hand  ; 
but  Red  Cedar  laughingly  caught  hold 
of  his  arm. 

"  A  moment,"  he  said  ;  "  those  cards 


are  yours,  gossip,  and    I    know   your 
talent :  permit  me  to  cut." 

11  As  you  please,"  the  monk  said  with 
a  grimace  of  disappointment. 

The  squatter  cut,  and  Ellen  began 
dealing  the  cards. 

There  was  something  most  strange 
about  the  scene. 

On  a  gloomy  night,  in  the  heart  of 
this  desolate  gorge,  with  the  wind 
moaning  through  the  trees,  these  four 
men  bending  forward,  anxiously  watch- 
ihg  the  pale-browed  girl,  who,  by  the 
capricious  and  changing  glare  of  the 
fire,  seemed  performing  a  cabalistic 
work,  and  the  sinister  looks  of  these 
men,  staking  their  lives  at  this  moment 
on  a  card — assuredly,  a  stranger  who 
could  have  watched  the  extniordinary 
spectacle,  himself  unseen,  would  have 
fancied  it  an  hallucination  of  the  brain. 

With  frowning  brows,  pale  faces,  and 
heaving  chests,  they  followed  with  a 
feverish  glance  each  card  as  it  fell,  wip 
ing  away  at  intervals  the  cold  perspira 
tion  that  beaded  on  their  temples. 
The  cards  still  fell,  but  the  two  of 
spades  had  not  yet  appeared  ;  Ellen 
had  not  more  than  ten  cards  left  in  her 
hand. 

"  Ouf !"  the  monk  said,  "  it  is  a  long 
job." 

"  Bah  !"  Red  Cedar  said  with  a  grin  ; 
"  perhaps  you  will  find  it  too  short." 

"  It  is  I,"  Nathan  said  in  a  choking  ! 
voice.     In  fact,  the  two   of  spades  fell 
to  him,  and  all  breathed  freely  again. 

"  Well,"  the  monk  said,  as  he  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder,  "  1  congratulate 
you,  my  friend  Nathan:  you  have  a 
glorious  mission." 

"  Will  you  undertake  it  in  my 
stead  ?"  the  other  remarked  with  a 
grin. 

"  I  would  not  deprive  you  of  the 
honor  of  saving  us,"  Fray  Ambrosio 
said  with  magnificent  coolness. 

Nathan  gave  him  a  look  of  pity, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  turned  his 
back  on  him. 

Fray  Ambrosio  collected  the  cards, 
and  replaced  them  in  his  boot  with  evi 
dent  satisfaction. 

"  Hum  !"  he  muttered,  "  they  may 
still  be  of  service ;  we  cannot  tell  in 
what  circumstances  chance  may  place 
us." 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


115 


After  this  philosophic  reflection,  the 
monk,  cheered  up  by  the  certainty  of 
not  being  obliged  to  sacrifice  himself 
for  his  friends,  quietly  sat  down  again 
by  the  fire.  In  the  meanwhile,  Red 
Cedar,  who  did  not  let  out  of  sight  the 
execution  of  his  plan,  had  placed  some 
lumps  of  meat  on  the  fire,  that  his  com 
panions  might  acquire  the  necessary 
strength  for  the  fatigues  they  would 
have  to  endure. 

As  usually  happens  under  similar 
circumstances,  the  meal  was  silent; 
each,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  ate 
rapidly  without  thinking  of  keeping  up 
idle  conversation.  It  was  about  five  in 
the  morning,  and  the  sky  was  beginning 
to  assume  those  opaline  tints  which 
summoned  daybreak. 

Red  Cedar  rose,  and  the  rest  imitated 
him. 

"  Come,  lad,"  he  said  to  Nathan, 
"  are  you  ready  ?  The  hour  has  ar 
rived." 

"  I  will  start  whenever  you  please, 
father,"  the  young  man  answered,  re 
solutely.  "  1  am  only  awaiting  your 
final  instructions,  that  I  may  know  the 
directions  I  have  to  follow,  and  at  what 
place  I  shall  find  you  again,  if,  as  is  not 
very  likely,  I  have  the  luck  to  escape 
safe  and  sound." 

"  My  instructions  will  not  be 
lengthy,  my  lad.  You  must  go  north 
west,  as  that  is  the  shortest  road  to 
leave  these  accursed  mountains.  If 
you  can  reach  the  high  read  to  Indepen 
dence,  you  are  saved  ;  thence  it  will  be 
easy  fur  you  to  reach  in  a  short  time 
the  cavern  of  our  old  comrades,  where 
you  will  hide  yourself  while  waiting 
for  us.  I  recommend  you  specially  to 
hide  your  trail  as  well  as  you  can. 
We  have  to  deal  with  the  craftiest  men 
on  the  prairie ;  an  easy  trail  would 
arouse  their  suspicions,  and  our  design 
would  be  entirely  foiled.  You  under 
stand  me,  I  think  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  For  the  rest,  I  trust  to  you  ;  you 
know  desert  life  too  well  to  be  hum 
bugged  ;  you  have  a  good  rifle,  powder, 
and  bullets.  I  wish  you  luck,  lad  !  but 
do  not  forget  that  you  have  to  draw 
our  enemies  after  you." 

1 


"  Do  not  be  frightened,"  Nathan  re 
plied,  roughly,  "  1  am  no  fool." 

"That  is  true;  take  a  lump  of  meat, 
and  good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  and  the  devil  take  you  ; 
but  watch  over  my  sister  ;  I  c;ire  pre 
cious  little  for  your  old  carcass,  so 
long  as  the  girl  runs  no  danger." 

"  All  right,"  the  squatter  said,  "  we 
will  do  what  is  needful  to  prot  -ct  yonr 
sister,  so  do  not  trouble  yourself  about 
her  ;  come,  be  off." 

Nathan  embraced  Ellen,  who  affec 
tionately  pressed  his  hand,  as  she  wiped 
away  her  tears. 

"  Don't  cry,  Ellen,"  he  said  hoarsely  ; 
"  a  man's  life  is  nothing  after  all  ;  don't 
bother  yourself  about  me — the  devil 
will  look  after  his  friends." 

After  uttering  the  words  in  a  tone 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  render  cure 
less,  the  young  savage  threw  his  rifle 
on  his  back,  hung  a  piece  of  meat  to 
his  girdle,  and  went  off  hurriedly,  not 
turning  round  once.  Five  minutes 
later,  he  disappeared  in  the  ch;ipparal. 

"Poor  brother!"  Ellen  murmured, 
"  he  is  going  to  a  certain  death." 

"Well,"  Red  Cedar  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  we  are  all  go 
ing  to  death,  and  each  step  unconsci 
ously  brings  us  nearer  to  it  :  what  use 
is  it  feeling  sorry  about  the  fate  that 
threatens  him  ;  do  we  know  what 
awaits  ourselves?  we  are  not  lying  on 
a  bed  of  roses.  My  child,  I  warn  you, 
that  we  shall  require  all  our  skill  and 
sagacity  to  get  out  of  it,  for  I  cannot 
calculate  on  a  miracle  occurring.'' 

"That  is  far  more  prudent,"  Fray 
Ambrosio  said,  cunningly  ;  "besides,  it 
is  written  somewhere,  I  forget  where, 
'  Help  yourself,  and  heaven  will  help 

you.'  " 

"  Yes,"  the  squatter  replied,  with  a 
grin,  "and  there  never  was  a  finer  op- 

O  ' 

portunity  for  putting  the  pivcept  in 
practice." 

"  I  think  so,  and  am  waiting  for  you 
to  explain  to  us  what  we  have  to  do." 

Without  answering  the  monk,  Red 
Cedar  turned  to  his  daughter. 

"  Ellen,  my  child,'1  he  asked  her,  in 
an  affectionate  voice,  "  do  you  feel 
strong  enough  to  follow  us?" 


116 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me, 
father,"  she  replied  ;  "  wherever  you 
pass,  I  will  pass  :  you  know  that  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  the  desert  from  my 
childhood." 

"  That  is  true,"  Red  Cedar  remarked 
doubtfully  :  "  but  this  is  the  first  time 
you  have  tried  the  mode  of  traveling 
we  shall  be  obliged  to  adopt." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  People 
travel  on  foot,  horseback,  or  in  a  boat. 
We  have  moved  about  in  one  of  those 
fashions  twenty  times  before." 

"  You  are  right ;  but  now  we  are 
constrained  by  circumstances  to  modi 
fy  our  mode  of  marching.  We  have 
no  horses,  no  river,  and  our  enemies 
hold  the  ground." 

"  In  that  case,"  the  monk  exclaimed 
\vith  a  griti,  "  we  will  imitate  the  birds, 
and  fly  All  rough  the  air." 

Red  Cedar  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  You  have  nearly  guessed  it,"  he 
said. 

"  What  ?"  the  monk  remarked,  "  you 
are  making  fun  of  us,  Red  Cedar.  Do 
you  think  this  the  proper  moment  for 
jesting  ?" 

"  I  am  not  naturally  inclined  to  jest 
ing,"  the  squatter  coldly  replied,  "and 
at  this  moment  less  than  ever.  We 
shall  not, fly  like  the  birds,  because  we 
have  no  wings;  but  for  all  that,  we  will 
make  our  journey  in  the  air,  in  this 
way.  Look  around  you  ;  on  the  sides 
of  the  mountains  extend  immense 
virgin  forests,  in  which  our  enemies  are 
concealed.  They  are  coming  on  quiet 
ly,  carefully  picking  out  every  sign  of 
our  passing  they  can  discover." 

«  Well  ?"  the  monk  asked. 

"  While  they  are  seeking  our  trail  on 
the  ground,  we  will  slip  through  their 
hands  like  serpents,  passing  from  tree 
to  tree,  from  branch  to  branch,  thirty 
yards  above  their  heads,  and  they  not 
dreaming  of  looking  up,  which  would, 
indeed,  be  useless,  for  the  foliage  is  too 
dense,  the  creepers  too  close  for  them 
to  discover  us.  And  then,  again,  this 
chance  of  safety,  though  very  slight,  is 
the  only  one  left  us.  Have  you  the 
courage  to  try  it  ?" 

"  There  was  a  momentary  silence." 
At  length  the  monk  took  the  squatter's 
hand,  and  shook  it  heartily. 


"  Canarios  !  gossip,"  he  said  to  him, 
with  a  species  of  respect,  "  you  are  a 
great  man.  Forgive  my  suspicions." 

"  You -accept,  then  ?" 

"  Caspita!  you  need  not  ask  that. 
Eagerly,  and  1  swear  it,  that  never 
squirrel  leaped  as  I  will  do." 


CIIAPTEll    XXVI. 

NATHAN     PAINTS     HIMSELF. 

So  soon  as  he  had  got  out  of  sight  of 
his  comrades,  Nathan  halted. 

He  was  neither  so  careless  nor  con 
fident  as  he  wished  to  appear.  When 
he  was  alone  and  away  from  those  who 
might  ridicule,  he  gave  way  to  his  ill- 
temper,  and  cursed  the  chance  that 
placed  him  in  such  a  precarious  and 
dangerous  position. 

Nathan,  we  think  we  have  already 
said,  was  a  species  of  Hercules,  gifted 
with  uncommon  energy  and  ferocity. 
Accustomed  from  his  childhood  to  a 
desert  life  and  its  sanguinary  tragedies, 
he  was  not  the  man  to  despond  and 
despair  easily.  Pitiless  to  himself  as 
to  others,  he  perfectly  accepted  the  con 
sequences  of  the,  situation  in  which  he 
found  himself  at  times  placed,  and,  in 
case  of  necessity,  was  resolved  to  fight 
to  the  death  in  defence  of  his  scalp. 

At  this  moment,  however,  it  was  not 
his  position  in  itself  that  rendered  him 
anxious.  He  had  been  a  hundred 
times  beset  by  equal  danger  in  crossing 
the  prairie  ;  but  hitherto,  when  he  had 
perilled  his  life,  he  had  done  it  with  ail 
object  he  knew  perfectly  well,  with  the 
prospect,  near  or  remote,  of  some 
profit ;  but  this  time  he  regarded  him 
self  as  obeying  a  will  he  was  ignorant 
of,  for  a  purpose  he  did  not  understand, 
and  for  interests  that  were  not  his  own. 

Hence,  he  cursed  his  father,  Fray 
Ambrosio,  and  himself  for  having  thus 
got  into  a  trap,  whence  he  did  not  know 
how  to  escape. 

Red  Cedar's  last  recommendation 
was  necessary. 

Nathan  was  not  at  all  anxious  to 
have  his  trail  discovered.  He  employ 
ed  all  the  means  his  intelligence  sag- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


gested  to  him  to  hide  it  from  the  keen 
est  glance,  only  taking  a  step  after  con 
vincing  himself  that  the  trace  of  the 
previous  one  had  disappeared. 

After  ripe  reflection,  he  had  arrived 
at  the  following  conclusion  : 

"  It's  all  the  worse  for  them,  but 
each  for  himself!  If  I  lose  my  scalp 
they  will  not  give  it  me  back.  I  will, 
therefore,  defend  it  as  well  as  I  can. 
They  must  do  what  they  can,  but  for 
my  part  I  must  do  my  best  to  get  out 
of  the  scrape." 

After  these  words,  uttered  in  a  loud 
voice,  in  the  way  of  men  accustomed 
to  live  alone,  Nathan  gave  that  almost 
imperceptible  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
which  in  all  countries  signifies  "  let 
what  will  happen."  And,  after  care 
fully  examining  his  rifle,  he  started 
afresh. 

Europeans,  accustomed  to  the  hori 
zons  of  the  old  world,  to  macadamized 
roads,  bordered  by  pleasant  houses  and 
traversed  in  every  direction,  cannot 
form,  even  approximately,  a  correct 
idea  of  the  position  of  a  man  alone  in 
that  ocean  of  verdure  called  the  Far 
West,  who  feels  himself  watched  by 
invisible  eyes,  and  knows  he  is  tracked 
like  a  wild  beast. 

A  man,  however  brave  he  may  be, 
and  accustomed  to  the  adventurous  life 
of  the  desert,  shudders  and  feels  very 
weak  when  he  turns  an  enquiring  glance 
around  him,  and  sees  himself,  so  little  in 
the  immensity  that  surrounds  him. 

In  the  desert,  if  you  wish  to  go  north, 
you  must  march  to  the  south  ;  be  at 
tentive  not  to  crush  the  leaves  on  which 
you  walk,  break  the  branches  that  bar 
the  way,  and,  above  all,  not  to  make 
the  pebbles  on  which  you  step  grate 
against  each  other. 

All  the  sounds  of  the  desert  are 
known  to,  explained,  and  commented 
on  by  the  redskins.  After  listening 
for  a  few  seconds,  they  can  tell  you 
if  the  animal  whose  footfall  is  heard  in 
the  distance,  is  a  horse,  a  bear,  a  buffa 
lo,  an  elk,  or  an  antelope.  A  pebble 
rolling  down  the  side  of  a  ravine  suf 
fices  to  denounce  a  prowler.  A  few 
drops  of  water  spilt  on  the  edge  of  a 
ford,  clearly  reveal  the  passing  of  sev 
eral  travelers.  An  unusual  movement 


in   the   tall  grass,  betrays   a   watching 
spy. 

Everything,  in  short,  from  the  down 
trodden  blade  of  grass  to  the  buffalo 
that  suddenly  cocks  its  e.irs  while 
browzing,  or  the  asshata  bounding  in 
alarm  without  cause — all  in  the  desert 
serves  as  a  book,  in  which  the  Indian 
reads  the  passage  of  friend  or  foe,  and 
puts  him  on  his  trail,  even  though  they 
be  one  hundred  miles  apart. 

The  men  who  live  in  these  countries, 
where  material  life  is  everything,  ac 
quire  a  perfection  of  certain  organs 
which,  seems  incredible ;  sight  and 
hearing  especially  are  enormously  de 
veloped  in  them  ;  and  this,  combined 
with  extreme  agility,  dauntless  courage, 
and  sustained  by  muscles  of  remark 
able  vigor,  renders  them  dangerous  ad 
versaries. 

In  addition  to  this,  we  have  that  cun 
ning  and  treachery  which  are  never 
apart,  and  are  the  two  great  means 
which  the  Indians  employ  to  seize  their 
foes,  whom  they  never  attack  face  to 
face,  but  always  by  surprise. 

Necessity  is  the  supreme  law  of  the 
Indian,  and  he  sacrifices  everything  to  it, 
and,  like  all  incomplete  or  badly-deve 
loped  natures,  he  only  admits  physical 
qualities,  caring  nothing  for  virtues  he 
does  not  want,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
would  injure  him  in  the  life  he  leads. 

Nathan  was  himself  almost  a  redskin: 
only  at  rare  intervals  had  he  visited,  for 
a  few  days  at  a  time,  the  towns  of  the 
American  Union.  Hence  all  he  knew 
of  life  he  had  learued  in  the  desert ;  and 
that  education  is  as  good  as  another 
when  the  instincts  of  the  man  who  re 
ceives  it  are  good  ;  because  he  is  able 
to  make  a  choice,  and  take  what  is  no 
ble  and  generous,  laying  aside  what  is 
bad.  Unfortunately,  Nathan  had  never 
any  other  teacher  of  morality  but  his 
father.  From  an  early  age  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  regard  things  in  the  same 
way  as  the  squatter  did,  and  that  was 
the  worst  of  all.  Hence  with  years  thu 
teaching  be  received  had  fructified  so 
fully  that  he  had  become  the  true  type 
of  the  civilized  man  who  has  turned 
savage  ;  the  most  hideous  transforma 
tion  of  species  that  can  be  imagined. 

Nathan   loved   nothing,    believed    in 


118 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


nothing,  and  respected  nothing.  Only 
one  person  had  any  influence  over  him, 
and  that  was  Ellen  ;  but  at  this  moment 
she  was  no  longer  by  his  side. 

The  young  man  marched  on  for  a  long 
time  without  perceiving  anything  that 
revealed  the  approach  of  danger;  still 
this  factitious  security  did  not  make 
him  neglect  his  precautions.  While 
walking  on,  with  rifle  thrust  out  before 
him,  his  body  bent  forward,  and  eye  and 
ear  on  the  watch,  he  thought,  and  the 
further  he  went,  the  more  gloomy  his 
thoughts  became. 

The  reason  was  simple  ;  he  knew  that 
he  was  surrounded  by  implaceble  foes, 
watched  by  numerous  spies,  and  yet 
nothing  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  prai 
rie.  All  appeared  to  be  in  its  ordinary 
state  ;  it  was  impossible  to  notice  the 
least  suspicious  movement  in  the  grass 
or  shrubs.  This  calmness  was  too  pro 
found  to  be  natural,  and  Nathan  was 
not  deceived  by  it. 

'  "  Humph  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
shall  have  a  row  presently,  I  feel  certain; 
deuce  take  those  brutes  of  redskins  for 
not  giving  a  sign  of  life.  I  am  walking 
blindly,  not  knowing  where  I  am  going, 
1  am  convinced  1  shall  fall  into  some 
trap  laid  for  me  by  these  villains,  and 
which  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to 
get  out  of." 

Nathan  went  on  walking  till  about 
ten  in  the  morning.  At  that  hour,  as 
he  felt  hungry,  and  his  legs  were  rather 
stiff,  he  resolved  at  all  hazards  to  take 
a  few  moments'  rest  and  some  mouth- 
fuls  of  meat.  He  mechanically  looked 
round  him  to  seek  a  suitable  spot,  but 
he  suddenly  gave  a  start  of  surprise  as 
he  raised  his  rifle,  and  hid  himself  be 
hind  an  enormous  tree.  He  had  notic 
ed,  scarce  fifty  yards  from  him,  an  In 
dian,  sitting  carelessly  on  the  ground 
and  quietly  eating  a  little  pemmican. 

After  the  first  emotion  had  worn  off, 
Nathan  attentively  examined  the  Indian. 

He  was  a  man  of  thirty  at  the  most ; 
he  did  not  wear  the  garb  of  a  warrior, 
and  two  screech-owl  feathers  fixed  in 
his  thick  hair,  over  his  right  ear,  ren 
dered  it  easy  to  recognize  a  Nez-perce 
Indian.  The  adventurer  looked  at  him 
a  lung  time  ere  he  could  make  up  his 
iuiud  what  to  do  ;  at  length  he  ttirew 


his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  left  his  hiding 
place,  and  walked  up  to  the  Indian. 
The  latter  probably  saw  him,  though 
he  displayed  no  alarm,  and  quietly  went 
on  eating. 

When  about  two  paces  from  the  Nez- 
perce  the  American  stopped. 

"  1  salute  my  brother,"  he  said,  rais 
ing  his  voice,  and  unfolding  his  zarape 
in  sign  of  peace  ;  "  may  tlie  Wacon- 
dah  grant  him  a  great  hunt.'' 

"I  thank  my  fairface  brother,"  the 
Indian  replied,  as  he  looked  up  ;  "  he  is 
welcome,  1  have  two  handsful  of  pemmi 
can  left,  and  there  is  a  place  for  him  at 
my  fire." 

Nathan  approached,  and,  without  fur 
ther  ceremony,  sat  down  by  the  side  of 
his  new  friend,  who  paternally  shared 
his  food  with  him,  but  asked  him  no 
questions. 

After  feeding,  the  Nez-perce  lit  an  In 
dian  pipe,  in  which  his  companion  at 
once  imitated  him. 

The  two  men  remained  there,  silently 
puffing  the  smoke  in  each  other's  face. 

When  the  Nez-perce  had  finished  his 
calumet,  he  shook  out  the  ash  on  his 
thumb,  placed  the  pipe  in  his  belt,  and 
and  then  resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
and  his  face  in  the  palm  of  his  huuds,he 
plunged  into  that  state  of  ecstatic  beati 
tude  which  the  Italians  call  the  dolce 
far  niente,  the  Turks  keff,  and  which 
has  no  equivalent  in  English. 

Nathan  filled  his  pipe  a  second  time, 
and  then  turned  to  his  comrade. 

"  Is  my  brother  a  chief  ?''  he  asked 
him. 

The  Indian  raised  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  with  a  proud 
smile,  "  I  am  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
great  medicine." 

Nathan  bowed  respectfully. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  my  broth- 
ed  is  one  of  the  wise  men,  whom,  the 
redskins  call  allanus" 

"  I  am  also  a  sorcerer,"  the  Nez-perce 
said. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  what,  is  my  brother  one  of 
the  Ministers  of  the  Great  Turtle  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  we  command 
the  caciques  and  warriors  ;  they  only 
act  on  our  orders." 

"  I  know  it  ;  my  father  has  great 
learning,  his  power  extends  over  the 
whole  earth." 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


119 


The  Nez-perce  smiled  condescending 
ly  at  this  praise,  and  holding1  up  a  small 
staff  decorated  with  gay  feathers  and 
bells  which  he  held  in  his  right  hand,  he 
said : 

"  This  mulbache  is  a  more  tremendous 
weapon  than  the  thunder  of  the  pale 
faces  ;  everywhere  it  makes  me  feared 
and  respected." 

A  sinister  smile  for  the  second  time 
curled  the  American's  lips. 

"  Is  my  brother  returning  to  his  na 
tion  1"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  the  Indian  said  with  a  shake 
of  the  hand  ;  "  1  am  expected  at  the  vil 
lage  of  the  Buffalo  Apaches,  who  require 
my  counsel  and  my  medicine,  in  order 
to  undertake,  under  favourable  auspi 
ces,  a  great  expedition  they  are  meditat 
ing  at  this  moment.  My  brother  will 
therefore  forgive  my  leaving  him,  for  I 
must  reach  the  end  of  my  journey  this 
night." 

"  I  will  not  leave  my  red  brother,"  Na 
than  answered  ;  "if  he  will  permit  me, 
I  will  walk  in  his  moccasins,  for  my 
footsteps  have  the  same  direction  as  my 
brother's." 

"  I  gladly  accept  my  brother's  pro 
position  ;  let  us  start  then." 

"  I  am  ready." 

After  rising  and  adjusting  his  dress, 
the  Indian  stooped  to  pick  up  a  small 
bundle,  which  probably  contained  his 
scanty  property. 

Nathan  profited  by  the  movement ; 
swift  as  thought  he  drew  his  knife,  and 
buried  it  to  the  hilt  between  the  In 
dian's  shoulders.  The  unhappy  man 
uttered  a  stifled  cry,  stretched  out  his 
arms,  and  fell  dead. 

The  American  phlegmatically  drew  his 
knife  from  the  horrible  wound,  wiped 
it  in  the  grass,  and  returned  it  to  his 
girdle. 

"  Plum  !"  he  said,  with  a  grin  ; 
"  there's  a  poor  devil  of  a  sorcerer, 
whose  skill  could  not  save  him  :  I  will 
try  whether  I  cannot  succeed  better." 

While  talking  with  the  redskin, 
whom  he  had  at  first  no  intention  of 


killing,  and  whom  he  only  wished  t<> 
make  a  protector,  a  sudden  idea  cross 
ed  his  mind. 

This  idea,  which  at  the  first  blush 
will  seem  extraordinary,  suited  the 
bandit,  owing  to  the  boldness  and  dar 
ing  it  required  to  carry  it  out  success 
fully.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  assume 
the  sorcerer's  clothes,  and  pass  for  him 
among  the  redskins. 

Long  conversant  with  Indian  habits 
and  customs,  Nathan  felt  sure  he  should 
play  this  difficult  part  with  all  the  per 
fection  necessary  to  deceive  even  sharp 
er  eyes  than  those  of  the  savages. 

After  assuring  himself  that  his  vic 
tim  gave  no  sign  of  life,  Nathan  began 
removing  his  garments,  which  he  put 
on  instead  of  his  own.  When  this  first 
change  was  effected,  he  rifled  the  sor 
cerer's  bag,  took  out  a  mirror,  bladders 
filled  with  vermilion,  and  a  black  pig 
ment,  and  with  small  pieces  of  wood 
painted  on  his  face  the  strange  figures 
that  were  on  the  sorcerer's.  The  imita 
tion  was  perfect ;  from  the  face  he  pass 
ed  to  the  body  ;  then  he  fastened  on 
his  hair,  and  stuck  in  it  the  two  screech- 
owl  feathers. 

Nathan  had  frequently  disguised  him 
self  as  an  Indian,  when  going  scalp- 
hunting  with  his  father,  hence  the  meta 
morphosis  in  a  few  seconds. 

"  This  carrion  must  not  be  found," 
he  said. 

Taking  the  body  on  his  back,  he  hurl 
ed  it  to  the  bottom  of  a  precipice. 

"  Well,  that  is  settled,"  he  continued, 
with  a  laugh  ;  "  if  the  Apaches  are  not 
satisfied  with  the  great  medicine  man 
who  is  corning  to  them,  they  will  be 
difficult  to  please." 

As  he  did  not  wish  to  lose  his  clothes, 
he  hid  them  in  the  Indian's  bundle, 
which  he  passed  over  his  rifle  barrel  ; 
he  then  took  the  poor  sorcerer's  staff, 
and  gai^y  set  out,  muttering  to  himself 
with  an  impudent  smile — 

"  We  shall  soon  see  whether  this 
mulbache  really  possesses  the  magic 
powers  that  are  attributed  to  it." 


120 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

A     TRAIL     IN      THE      AIR. 

TRAVELERS  and  tourists  who  have  only 
seen  European  forests,  cannot  imagine 
the  grand,  rmijestic,  and  sublime  view 
offered  by  a  virgin  forest  in  the  New 
World.  There  are  none  of  those 
glades  four  or  five  yards  wide,  stretch 
ing  out  before  you,  straight  and  stiff 
for  miles,  but  everything  is  abrupt  and 
savage.  There  is  no  prospect,  for  the 
eye  cannot  see  more  than  thirty  or  forty 
paces  at  the  most  in  any  direction.  The 
primitive  soil  has  disappeared  beneath 
the  detritus  of  trees  dead  from  old  age, 
and  which  time,  rain,  and  sunshine  have 
reduced  to  dust. 

The  trees  grow  very  freely,  envelop 
ed  by  thick  lianas,  which  twine  around 
the  stems  and  branches  in  the  strangest 
curves,  dashing  in  every  direction,  plun 
ging  into  the  ground  to  reappear  again 
a  yard  further  on,  and  chaining  the  trees 
together  for  enormous  distances. 

The  wood  varies  but  slightly  in  cer 
tain  districts,  and  hence,  one  tree 
serves  the  repetition  of  all. 

Then  again,  a  grass,  close  and  thick 
like  the  straw  of  a  wheat  field,  grows 
to  a  height  of  five  and  often  six  feet. 

Suddenly  immense  pits  open  beneath 
the  feet  of  the  imprudent  traveler,  or 
bogs  covered  by  a  crust  scarce  an  inch 
in  thickness,  which  swallow  up  in  their 
fetid  mud  the  man  who  ventures  to  put 
a  foot  on  them ;  further  on,  a  stream 
runs  silent  and  unvisited,  forming 
rapids,  and  forcing  a  path  with  difficulty 
through  the  heaps  of  earth  and  dead 
trees  which  it  collects  and  deposits  on 
the  banks. 

From  this  short  description  it  may 
be  understood  that  it  is  not  so  difficult 
as  might  be  supposed  to  pass  from  one 
tree  to  another  for  a  long  distance. 

In  order,  however,  to  explain  this 
thoroughly  to  the  reader,  we  will  tell 
him  what  he  is  probably  ignorant  of : 
that  in  certain  parts  of  the  prairie  this 
mode  of  traveling  is  employed,  not,  as 
might  be  supposed,  to  escape  the  ob 
stinate  pursuit  of  an  enemy,  but  simply 
to  get  on  the  more  rapidly,  not  to  be 
obliged  to  cut  a  path  with  the  axe,  and 


run  no  risk  of  falling  down  a  precipice, 
the  more  so  as  most  of  the  trees  are 
enormous,  and  their  solid  branches  so 
intertwined,  that  they  thus  form  a  con 
venient  flooring,  at  eighty  feet  above 
the  ground. 

Hence  Red  Cedar's  proposition  had 
nothing  extraordinary  in  itself,  when 
made  to  men  who  had  probably  tried 
this  mode  of  locomotion  before. 

But  what  would  have  been  an  easy 
and  simple  thing  for  the  adventurers, 
became  serious  and  almost  impossible 
for  a  girl  like  Ellen,  who,  though  strong 
and  skillful,  could  not  take  a  step  with 
out  running  a  risk  of  breaking  her 
neck,  owing  to  her  dress  catching  in 
every  branch. 

A  remedy  for  this  must  be  found, 
and  the  three  men  reflected  on  it  for  an 
hour,  but  discovered  nothing  which  of 
fered  the  necessary  security. 

It  was  Ellen  again  who  came  to  their 
help,  and  relieved  them  from  the 
trouble. 

"  Well,"  she  asked  her  father,  "  what 
are  we  doing  here  1  why  do  we  not 
start  1  did  you  not  say  we  had  not  a 
moment  to  lose?" 

Red  Cedar  shook  his  head. 

"  I  said  so,  and  it  is  true  ;  each  mo 
ment  we  lose  robs  us  of  a  day  of  life." 

"  Let  us  be  off,  then." 

"It  is  not  possible  yet,  my  child,  till 
I  have  found  what  I  am  seeking." 

"  What  is  it,  father  ?  tell,  me,  per 
haps  1  can  help  you." 

"  Bah  ?"  Red  Cedar  said,  suddenly 
making  up  his  mind,  "  why  should  I 
make  a  secret  of  what  concerns  you  as 
much  as  myself?" 

"  What  is  it,  then,  father  ?" 

"  Hang  it  all,  your  confounded  gown, 
which  renders  it  impossible  for  you  to 
leap  from  one  branch  to  another  as  we 
shall  do." 

"  Is  that  all  that  troubles  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  nothing  else." 

"  Well  then,  you  were  wrong  not  to  . 
speak  to  me  sooner,  for   the  evil  would 
have   been   repaired,   and   we    on   the 
road." 

"  Is  it  true  ?"  the  squatter  exalaimed 
joyfully. 

"  You  shall  see  how  quickly  it  will 
be  done." 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


121 


The  girl  rose,  and  disappeared  behind 
a  clump.  In  ten  minutes  she  returned  ; 
her  gown  was  so  arranged  that  while 
allowing  her  the  free  use  of  her  limbs, 
it  no  longer  floated,  and  consequently 
ran  no  risk  of  being  entangled  in  the 
trees. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  how  do  you  find  me  ?" 

"Admirable." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  start  when  you 
please." 

"  At  once." 

Red  Cedar  made  his  final  prepara 
tions  ;  these  were  not  long,  for  he  had 
but  to  remove  all  traces  of  his  encamp 
ment. 

More  difficult  still,  none  of  the  pur 
suers,  if  they  happened  to  pa^s  that 
way,  should  be  able  to  discover  the 
road  taken  by  the  adventurers. 

In  consequence,  Red  Cedar  took  his 
daughter  on  his  muscular  shoulders,  and 
heading  the  party  in  Indian  file  he  fol 
lowed  for  about  an  hour  the  road  taken 
by  Nathan. 

Then,  he  and  his  comrades  returning, 
marching  backwards,  gradually  effacing 
the  footprints,  not  so  carefully  that  they 
could  not  be  discovered,  but  sufficiently 
so  for  those  who  found  them  not  to 
suppose  they  had  been  left  expressly. 

After  two  hours  of  this  fatiguing 
march,  during  which  the  adventurers 
had  not  exchanged  a  syllable,  they 
reached  a  granite  plateau,  where  they 
were  enabled  to  rest  for  a  few  moments 
without  any  fear  of  leaving  a  trail,  for 
the  rock  was  too  hard  to  take  their 
foot-prints. 

"  Ouf !"  Fray  Ambrosio  muttered, 
"  1  am  not  sorry  to  take  breath,  for  this 
is  the  devil's  own  work." 

"  What,  are  you  tired  already,  Senor 
Padre?"  Sutter  replied  with  a  grin  ; 
"  you  are  beginning  early  ;  but  wait 
awhile;  what  you  have  done  is  nothing 
compared  with  what  you  have  to  do." 

"I  doubt  whether  the  road  we  shall 
now  follow  can  present  so  many  diffi 
culties  ;  if  so,  we  had  better  give  it 
up." 

"  Well,  if  you  prefer  making  a  pre 
sent  of  your  scalp  to  those,  demons  of 
Comanches,  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world ;  you  need  only  remain  quietly 


where  you  are,  and  you  may  be  certain 
they  will  soon  pay  you  a  visit.  You 
know  that  the  redskins  are  like  vul 
tures  ;  fresh  meat  attracts  them,  and 
they  scent  it  for  a  long  distance." 

"  Canaries  !  I  would  sooner  be  roast 
ed  at  a  slow  fire  than  fall  into  the  hands 
of  those  accursed  pagans." 

"  Come,  come,"  Red  Cedar  interpos 
ed,  "  all  that  talking  is  ot  no  use — 
what  is  written  is  written — no  one  can 
escape  his  destiny  ;  hence,  troubling 
oneself  about  what  is  going  to  happen 
is  folly,  take  my  word  for  it." 

"  Well  said,  Red  Cedar  ;  you  have 
spoken  like  a  man  of  great  good  sense, 
and  I  arn  completely  of  your  opinion. 
Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  us?" 

"  I  believe  that,  thanks  to  the  ma 
noeuvre  we  have  employed,  we  have 
managed  to  hide  our  trail  so  cleverly, 
that  the  demon  himself  could  not  guesa 
the  direction  we  have  taken.  The  first 
part  of  our  task  has  been  accomplished 
without  an  obstacle ;  now  let  us  not  be 
tray  ourselves  by  imprudence  or  ex 
treme  precipitation.  I  have  brought 
you  here,  because,  as  you  see,  the  vir 
gin  forest  begins  at  the  end  of  this 
platform.  The  most  difficult  task  is  to 
climb  the  first  tree  without  leaving  a 
trail;  as  for  the  rest,  it  is  merely  u 
question  of  skill.  Leave  me  to  act  as 
I  think  proper,  and  1  warrant  you  will 
have  no  cause  to  repent  it." 

"  I  know  it  ;  so,  for  my  part,  I  as 
sure  you  that  you  are  quite  at  liberty 
to  act  as  you  please." 

"  Very  good  ;  that  is  what  we  will 
do  ;  you  see  that  enormous  branch  jut 
ting  out  about  thirty  feet  above  our 
heads  ?" 

"  1  see  it — what  next  ?" 

"  1  will  seize  its  end  with  my  lasso, 
and  we  will  pull  it  down  till  it  touches 
the  ground  ;  we  will  hold  it  so  while 
daughter  mounts  and  reaches  the  higher 
branches  ;  you  will  pass  next,  then 
Sutter,  and  myself  last  ;  in  that  way  we 
shall  leave  no  sign  of  our  ascent." 

"  Your  idea  is  very  ingenious,  I  ap 
prove  of  it  highly,  especially  as  that 
way  of  mounting  will  be  easy  for 
your  daughter  and  myself,  while  Sut 
ter  will  not  have  much  trouble.  Still 
one  thing  bothers  me." 


122 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


"  Out  with  it." 

"  So  long  as  any  one  is  here  to  hold 
the  branch,  of  course  it  will  remain 
bent ;  but  when  we  are  up  and  you  re 
main  alone,  how  will  you  follow  us? 
That  I  do  not  understand,  and  I  confess 
I  should  not  be  sorry  to  learn  it." 

Red  Cedar  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  That  need  not  bother  you,  Senor 
Padre  ;  I  am  too  much  used  to  the 
desert  not  to  calculate  my  slightest  ac 
tions." 

"  As  it  is  so,  we  will  say  no  more 
it.  What  I  said  was  through  the  in 
terest  I  take  in  you." 

The    squatter  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"  Listen,  Fray  Ambrosio,"  he  said 
as  he  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  his  should 
er,  "  we  have  known  one  another  for  a 
long  while,  so  let  us  have  no  falsehoods; 
we  shall  never  manage  to  divine  each 
other,  so  let  us  remain  as  we  are.  Is 
that  agreed,  eh1?" 

The  monk  was  upset  by  this  harsh 
address  ;  he  lost  countenance,  and  stam 
mered  a  few  words. 

Red  Cedar  had  taken  his  lasso,  and 
Bow  whirled  it  round  his  head.  He 
had  measured  so  exactly,  that  the  run 
ning  knot  caught  the  end  of  the  branch. 

"  Help,  all !"  the  squatter  shouted. 

Under  their  united  efforts  the  branch 
gradually  bent  down  to  the  level  of  the 
platform,  as  Red  Cedar  had  foreseen. 

"  Make  haste,  Ellen,  make  haste,  my 
child  ?"  he  shouted  to  the  maiden. 

The  latter  did  not  need  any  repetition 
of  the  invitation  ;  she  ran  lightly  along 
the  branch,  and  in  a  twinkling  was  lean 
ing  against  the  stem. 

By  her  father's  request  she  mounted 
to  the  upper  branches,  among  which  she 
disappeared. 

"It  is  your  turn,  Fray  Ambrosio," 
the  squatter  said. 

The  monk  disappeared  in  the  same 
way. 

"  It  is  yours,  lad,"  the    squatter  said. 

Sutter  rejoined  the  other  two. 

When  left  alone,  Red  Cedar  put  forth 
all  his  strength  to  hold  the  branch 
down,  while  he  clung  to  its  lower  sur 
face  with  his  hand  and  feet.  So  soon 
as  the  branch  was  no  longer  held  down, 
it  rose  with  a  shrill  whistle  and  a  rapi 
dity  enough  to  make  him  giddy. 


The  tree  trembled  to  its  roots. 

Ellen  uttered  a  cry  of  terror  and 
closed  her  eyes.  When  she  opened 
them  again,  she  saw  her  father  astride 
on  the  end  of  the  tree  engaged  in  un 
fastening  the  running  knot  of  his  lasso, 
after  which  the  squatter  rose  with  per 
fect  calmness,  and  while  rolling  the  las 
so  round  his  loins,  joined  his  compan 
ions. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  them,  "  you  see 
it  is  finished  ;  now  we  must  continue 
our  journey  ;  are  you  ready  V 

"  Quite,"   they  all  said. 

We  repeat  our  assertion,  that  with 
the  exception  of  the  strangeness  of  the 
road,  this  way  of  traveling  had  nothing 
dangerous  or  even  inconvenient  about 
it,  owing  to  the  immense  net-work  of% 
lianas  that  twined  capriciously  round 
the  trees  and  the  interlaced  branches. 

The  party  proceeded,  almost  witi.out 
perceiving  it,  from  one  tree  to  the 
other,  constantly  suspended  over  an 
abyss  of  sixty,  even  eighty,  feet  in 
depth. 

Beneath  them  they  at  times  perceiv 
ed  the  wild  beasts  which  they  troubled 
in  their  mysterious  lairs,  and  which, 
with  outstretched  necks  and  flashing 
eyes,  watched  them  pass  in  surprise, 
not  understanding  what  they  saw. 

They  marched  thus  the  whole  day, 
stopping  for  a  moment  to  take  breath, 
and  starting  again  immediately. 

They  had  crossed,  still  on  their  float 
ing  bridge,  a  rather  wide  stream,  and 
would  soon  find  themselves  in  the  low 
lands. 

It  was  about  five  in  the  evening  ;  the 
beams  of  the  setting  sun  lengthened  the 
shadows  of  the  trees ;  the  owls,  at 
tracted  by  the  startled  flight  of  the 
beetles,  of  which  they  are  excessively 
fond,  were  already  flying  about;  a 
dense  vapor  rose  from  the  ground,  and 
formed  a  mist,  in  which  the  four  ppr,- 
sons  almost  disappeared:  ah,  in  u 
word,  announced  that  night  would  soon 
set  in. 

Red  Cedar  had  taken  the  lead  of  the 
little  party  for  fear  lest  his  companions 
might  take  a  wrong  direction  in  the  in 
extricable  labyrinth  of  the  virgin  forest ; 
for  at  the  height  where  they  were  the 
outlines  of  the  ground  entirely  disap- 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


123 


peared,  and  only  an  immense  chaos  of 
tufted  branches  and  interlaced  creepers 
could  be  seen. 

"  Hilloa,  gossip  !"  Fray  Ambrosio 
said,  who,  little  accustomed  to  long 
\valks,  and  weakened  by  the  lengthened 
privations  he  had  gone  through,  had 
walked  for  some  time  with  extreme 
difficulty,  "shall  we  soon  stop?  1  warn 
you  that  I  can  go  no  further." 

The  squatter  turned  sharply  and  laid 
his  large  hand  on  the  monk's  mouth. 

"Silence!"  he  hissed;  "silence,  if 
you  value  your  scalp  !" 

"Cristo,  if  I  value  it!"  the  other 
muttered,  with  a  movement  of  terror; 
"  but  what  is  happening  fresh?" 

Red  Cedar  cautiously  moved  a  mass 
of  leaves,  and  made  a  sign  to  his  com 
rades  to  imitate  him. 

"  Look,"  he  said. 

In  a  second  the  monk  drew  himself 
back  with  features  convulsed  with  ter 
ror. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  this  time  we  are 
lost  !" 

He  tottered,  and  would  have  fallen, 
had  not  the  squatter  seized  him  by  the 
arm. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  said. 

"  Wait,"  Red  Cedar  coldly  answer 
ed :  "our  position  for  the  present  is 
liot  so  desperate  ;  you  see  them,  but 
they  do  not  see  us." 

Fray  Ambrosio  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  You  have  led  us  to  our  ruin,"  he 
,id,  reproachfully. 

"  You  are  an  ass,"  Red  Cedar  an 
swered  with  contempt ;  "  do  I  not  risk 
as  much  as  you  ?  Did  I  not  warn  you 
that  we  were  surrounded  ?  Leave  me 
to  act,  I  tell  you." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE    FIGHT    WITH     THE    GRIZZLY. 

THE  NEW  World  has  no  reason  to 
envy  the  Old  in  the  matter  of  ferocious 
animals  of  every  description  and  every 
species.  The  family  of  the  planti 
grades  has  obtained  an  enormous  deve 
lopment  in  America,  and  possesses 
races  of  a  ferocitv  before  which  all  the 


wild  beasts  of  our  continent  turn  pale. 

We  will  speak  here  of  the  animal 
endowed  with  a  prodigious  strength, 
blind  courage,  and  unbounded  cruelty, 
which  the  learned  call  ursus  cinereus, 
and  the  Americans  the  grizzly  bear. 
Most  travelers  draw  a  terrific  feature 
of  this  animal,  saying  that  it  combines 
with  the  stupidity  of  the  Polar  bear 
the  ferocity  and  courage  of  the  great 
carnivora. 

Though  a  traveler  myself,  I  am 
forced  humbly  to  confess  that  the 
stories  of  these  gentry  must  be  ac 
cepted  with  some  reserve,  who,  often 
placed  in  perilous  situations,  or  ill- 
disposed  mentally  and  bodily,  have 
seen  badly,  and,  in  spite  of  them 
selves,  yielding  to  the  influence  of  the 
moment,  have  unconsciously  indulged 
in  exaggerations,  which  have  gradual 
ly  become  articles  of  faith,  and  are 
now  accepted  as  such. 

I  have  no  intention  to  rehabilitate 
the  grizzly  bear  in  the  minds  of  my 
readers;  still,  I  will  ask  them  not  to 
be  more  unjust  to  it  than  they  are 
to  other  animals  sent  into  the  world 
by  the  Creator.  Hence,  laying  aside 
all  exaggerations,  and  confining  our 
selves  to  the  strictest  truth,  we  will, 
in  a  few  words,  describe  the  grizzly 
bear  and  its  habits. 

During  our  long  stay  in  America, 
we  saw  enough  of  these  animals,  and 
in  sufficient  proximity  to  be  accepted 
as  a  credible  witness. 

My  readers  will  see  from  the 
portrait  of  tin's  animal,  correct,  if  not 
nattering  though  it  be,  that  it  is  na 
turally  ugly  enough,  both  morally 
and  physically,  not  to  require  to  be 
rendered  more  hideous  and  converted 
into  a  monster. 

The  grizzly,  when  it  has  reached  its 
full  growth,  is  about  ten  feet  in  length  ; 
its  coat  is  woolly,  very  thick,  and  per 
fectly  grey,  excepting  round  the  ears, 
where  it  is  brown.  Its  face  is  terri 
ble  ;  it  is  the  most  ferocious  and  dan 
gerous  of  all  the  American  carnivora. 
In  spite  of  its  clumsy  shape  and  heavy 
appearauce,  its  agility  is  extreme.  It 
is  the  more  to  be  feared,  because  its  in 
domitable  courage  emanates  from  the 
consciousness  of  its  prodigious  strength, 


124 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


and  is  always  akin  to  fury.  The  grizzly 
attacks  all  animals,  but  chiefly  the 
larger  rumin mts,  such  as  buffaloes, 
oxen,  &c.  What  has  probably  given 
rise  to  the  exaggerated  stories  of  trav 
elers,  is  the  fact  that  the  grizzly  bear 
does  not  hybernate,  and  as  during  win 
ter  it  starves  among  the  snow-covered 
mountains,  it  descends  to  the  plains  to 
find  food. 

The  red-skins  carry  on  a  deadly  war 
fare  with  it,  in  order  to  obtain  its  long 
sharp  claws,  of  which  they  form  col 
lars,  to  which  they  set  great  value. 

It  was  with  one  of  these  formidable 
animals  that  Valentijie  suddenly  found 
himself  face  to  face. 

The  rencontre  was  most  disagreeable; 
still  when  the  first  emotion  had  passed 
off,  the  hunters  boldly  made  up  their 
minds. 

"  It  is  a  combat  to  death,"  Valentine 
said  laconically ;  "  you  know  the  griz 
zly  never  draws  back." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  Don  Miguel 
asked. 

"  See  what  he  does  first,"  the  hunter 
continued.  "It  is  evident  that  this 
animal  has  fed,  else  it  would  not  return 
to  its  lair.  You  know  that  bears  go 
out  but  little  ;  if  we  are  lucky  enough 
to  deal  with  a  bear  that  has  had  a  good 
dinner,  it  will  be  an  immense  advantage 
for  ufc." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  For  the  simple  reason,"  Valentine 
said  with  a  laugh,  "  that,  like  all  peo 
ple  whose  meal  hours  are  irregular,when 
*  bears  sit  down  to  dinner,  they  eat  with 
extreme  gluttony,  which  renders  them 
heavy,  sleepy,  and  deprives  them,  in  a 
word,  of  one  half  their  faculties." 

"  Hum  !"  Don  Miguel  observed  ;  "  I 
fancy  what  is  left  them  is  quite 
enough." 

"  And  so  do  I ;  but,  quiet,  I  fancy 
the  beast  has  made  up  his  mind." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  Don  Pablo  remark 
ed,  "  that  it  is  making  its  arrangements 
to  attack  us." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant  to  say,"  Val 
entine  replied. 

!l  Well,  we  will  not  let  it  make  the 
first  demonstration." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  frightened,  Don  Mi 
guel,  I  am  used  to  bear-hunting ;  this 


one  certainly  does  not  expect  what  I  am 
preparing  for  it." 

"Providing  you  do  not  miss  your 
shot :  in  that  case  we  should  be  lost," 
Don  Miguel  observed. 

"  By  Jove !  I  know  that :  so  I  shall 
take  my  measures  in  accordance." 

Curumilla,  stoical  as  ever,  had  cut  a 
piece  of  candle-wood,  and  concealed 
himself  in  the  shrubs  only  a  few  paces 
from  the  wild  beast. 

The  bear,  after  a  moment's  hesita 
tion,  during  which  it  looked  round 
with  an  eye  flashing  with  gloomy  fire, 
as  if  counting  the  number  of  foes  it  had 
to  fight,  uttered  a  second  growl,  as  it 
passed  a  tongue  as  red  as  blood  over  its 
lips. 

"That  is  it,"  Valentine  said  with  a 
laugh ;  "  lick  your  chops,  my  fine  fel 
low  ;  still,  I  warn  you  that  your  mouth 
is  watering  too  soon — you  have  not  got 
us  yet." 

The  bear  seemed  to  notice  the  brava 
do,  for  it  made  an  effort,  and  its  mon 
strous  head  entirely  appeared  above 
the  level  of  the  platform. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  it  had  eaten 
too  much1?"  the  hunter  went  on. 
"  See  what  difficulty  it  finds  in  moving. 
Come,  sluggard,"  he  said,  addressing 
the  terrible  animal,  "  shake  yourself 
up  a  little." 

"  Take  care,"  Don  Miguel  shouted. 

"  The  brute  is  going  to  leap  on  you," 
Don  Pablo  said  in  agony. 

In  fact,  the  bear,  by  a  movement 
swift  as  lightning,  had  escaladed  the 
platform  with  a  gigantic  bound,  and 
was  now  scarce  twenty  yards  from  the 
intrepid  hunter. 

Valentine  did  not  move,  not  one  of 
his  muscles  shook:  he  merely  clenched 
his  teeth  as  if  going  to  break  them,  and 
a  white  foam  appeared  at  the  corner  of 
his  lips.  The  beast,  surprised  by  the 
intrepidity  of  the  man,  cowed  by  the 
electric  fluid  that  flashed  from  the  hun 
ter's  haughty  eye,  fell  back  a  step. 
For  a  moment  it  remained  motionless, 
with  hanging  head  ;  but  it  soon  began 
tearing  up  the  ground  with  its  formida 
ble  claws,  as  if  encouraging  itself  to 
begin  the  attack. 

Suddenly  it  turned  round. 

Curumilla  profited  by  the  movement, 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


125 


of  the  torch  he  held  in  readiness  for  the 
purpose,  and  at  a  signal  from  Valen 
tine,  made  the  light  flash  before  the 
bear. 

The  animal,  dazzled  by  the  brilliant 
glare  of  the  torch,  which  suddenly  dis 
sipated  the  darkness  that  surrounded  it, 
savagely  rose  on  its  hind  legs,  and  turn 
ing  toward  the  Indian,  tried  to  clutch 
the  torch  with  one  of  its  fore  paws, 
probably  in  order  to  put  it  out. 

Valentine  cocked  his  rifle,  stood  firm 
ly  on  his  legs,  aimed  carefully,  and  be 
gan  whistling  softly.  So  soon  as  the 
sound  reached  the  bear's  ears,  it  stop 
ped,  and  remained  thus  for  some  se 
conds  as  if  trying  to  account  for  this 
unusual  noise. 

The  hunter  still  whistled. 

The  witnesses  of  the  scene  held  their 
breath,  so  interested  were  they  in  the 
strange  incidents  of  this  duel  between 
intellect  and  brute  strength.  Still  they 
kept  their  hands  on  their  weapons, 
ready  to  hurry  to  their  friend's  help, 
should  he  be  in  danger. 

Valentine  was  calm,  gently  whistling 
to  the  bear,  which  gradually  turned  its 
head  toward  him. 

Curumilla,  with  the  lighted  torch  in 
his  hand,  attentively  watched  all  the  ani 
mal's  movements.  The  bear  at  length 
faced  the  hunter  ;  it  was  only  a  few 
paces  from  him,  and  Valentine  felt  its 
hot  and  fetid  breath. 

The  man  and  the  brute  gazed  on  each 
other  ;  the  bear's  bloodshot  eye  seemed 
riveted  on  that  of  the  Frenchman,  who 
looked  at  it  intrepidly  while  continu 
ing  to  whistle  softly. 

There  was  a  moment,  an  age  of  su 
preme  anxiety.  The  bear,  as  if  to  es 
cape  the  strange  fascination  it  suffered 
under,  shook  its  head  twice,  and  then 
rushed  forward  with  a  fearful  growl. 

At  the  same  instant  a  shot  was  fired. 
Don  Miguel  and  his  son  ran  up. 

Valentine,  with  his  rifle  butt  resting 
on  the  ground,  was  laughing  carelessly, 
while  two  paces  from  him  the  terrible 
animal  was  uttering  howls  of  fury,  and 
writhing  in  its  dying  convulsions. 

Crumilla  bending  forward,  was  curi 
ously  watching  the  movements  of  the 
animal  as  it  rolled  at  his  feet. 

'*  Thank  Heaven,"  Don  Miguel  eager 


ly   exclaimed.     "  You    are    safe,   my 
friend." 

"  Did  you  fancy  that  I  ran  any  danger?" 
the  hunter  answered  simply. 

"  I  trembled  for  your  life,"  the  haci- 
endero  said  with  surprise  and  admira 
tion. 

"  It  was  not  worth  the  trouble,  I  as 
sure  you,"  the  hunter  said  carelessly  ; 
"  grizzly  and  I  are  old  acquaintances ; 
ask  Curumilla  how  many  we  have 
knocked  over  in  this  way." 

"  But,"  Don  Pablo  objected,  "  the 
grizzly  bear  is  invulnerable;  bullets 
flatten  on  its  skull,  and  glide  off  its  fur." 

"That  is  perfectly  true  ;  still,  you 
forget  there  is  a  spot  where  it  can  be 
hit." 

"  I  know  it,  the  eye  ;  but  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  hit  it  at  the  first  shot  ;  to 
do  so  a  man  must  be  endowed  with 
marvellous  skill,  not  to  say  admirable 
courage  and  coolness." 

"  Thank  you,"  Valentine  replied  with 
a  smile  ;  "  now  that  our  enemy  is  dead, 
I  would  ask  you  to  look  and  teil  me 
where  I  hit  it." 

The  Mexicans  stooped  down  quickly; 
the  bear  was  really  dead.  Its  gigantic 
corpse,  which  Curumilla  was  already 
preparing  to  strip  of  its  magnificent 
coat,  covered  a  space  of  nearly  ten  feet. 

The  hunter's  bullet  had  entered  its 
right  eye  ;  the  two  gentlemen  uttered 
a  cry  of  admiration. 

"  Yfs,"  Valentine  said,  replying  to 
their  thought,  "  it  was  not  a  bad  shot ; 
but  be  assured  that  this  animal  enjoys 
an  usurped  reputation,  owing  to  the  ha 
bit  it  has  of  attacking  man,  ,vhorn,  how 
ever,  it  hardly  ever  conquers." 

"  But  look,  my  friend,  at  those  sharp 
claws ;  why,  they  are  nearly  six  inches 
long." 

"  That  is  true  ;  I  remember  a  poor 
Comanche,  on  whose  shoulder  a  grizzly 
let  his  paw  fall,  and  completely  smash 
ed  it.  But,  is  it  an  interesting  sport  ? 
I  confess  that  it  possesses  an  irresistible 
attraction  for  me." 

"  You  are  quite  at  liberty,  my 
friend,"  said  Don  Miguel,  "  to  find  a 
delight  in  fighting  such  monsters,  and  1 
can  account  for  it ;  the  life  you  lead  in 
the  desert  has  so  familiarized  you  with 
danger,  that  you  no  longer  believe  in 


126 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


it ;  but  we  dwellers  in  towns  have,  I 
confess,  an  invincible  respect  and  terror 
for  this  monster." 

"  Nonsense,  Don  Miguel,  how  can 
you  say  when  I  have  seen  you  engaged 
in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  tigers  ?" 

"That  is  possible,  my  friend;  I 
would  do  so  again,  if  necessary — but  a 
jaguar  is  not  a  grizzly." 

"  Come,  come,  I  will  not  tease  you 
any  longer.  While  Curumilla  prepares 
our  breakfast,  I  will  go  down  into  the 
J-avine.  Help  my  friend  to  roast  a 
piece  of  my  game,  and  I  am  sure,  when 
you  have  tasted  it,  the  exquisite  flavor 
will  make  you  quite  alter  your  opinion 
about  friend  Grizzly." 

And  carelessly  throwing  his  rifle  on 
his  shoulder,  which  he  had  reloaded, 
Valentine  then  entered  the  chapparal, 
in  which  he  almost  immediately  dis 
appeared. 

The  game,  as  Valentine  called  the 
grizzly,  weighed  about  four  hundred 
•weight.  After  flaying  it  with  that 
dexterity  the  Indians  possess,  Curu 
milla,  aided  by  the  two  Mexicans, 
hung  up  the  body  to  a  branch,  that 
bent  beneath  its  weight ;  he  cut  steaks 
from  the  loin,  and  took  out  the  pluck, 
which  regular  hunters  consider  the 
most  delicate  part  of  the  beast ;  and 
then,  while  Don  Miguel  and  Don 
Pablo  lit  the  fire,  and  laid  the  steaks 
on  the  ashes,  the  Indian  entered  the 
cave. 

Don  Pablo  and  his  father,  long  ac 
customed  to  the  Araucano  Chief's  way 
of  behaving,  made  no  remark,  but  went 
on  with  the  preparations  for  breakfast ! 
actively,  the  more  so  because  the 
night's  fatigues  and  their  long  priva 
tions  had  given  them  an  appetite  which 
the  smell  of  the  cooking  meat  only 
heightened. 

Still,  the  meal  had  been  ready  some 
time,  and  Valentine  had  not  returned. 

The  two  gentlemen  were  beginning 
to  feel  anxious. 

Nor  did  Curumilla  emerge  either 
from  the  cavern  in  which  he  had  now 
been  upwards  of  an  hour. 

The  Mexicans  exchanged  a  glance. 

"  Can  anything  have  happened  ?" 
Don  Miguel  asked. 


"  We  must  go  and  see."  said  Don 
Pablo. 

They  rose ;  Don  Pablo  proceeded 
toward  the  cave,  while  his  father  went 
to  the  end  of  the  platform. 

At  this  moment  Valentine  arrived  01 
one  side,  Curumilla  on  the  other,  hold 
ing  two  young  bearskins  in  his  hands. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?"  Don  Pablo 
in  his  surprise  could  not  refrain  from 
asking. 

The  Indian  smiled. 

"It  was *a she-bear,"  he  said. 

"  Are  we  going  to  breakfast  *"  Val 
entine  asked. 

"  Whenever  you  like,  my  friend," 
Don  Miguel  answered  ;  "  we  were  only 
waiting  for  you." 

"  I  have  been  gone  a  long  time." 

"  More  than  an  hour." 

"It  was  not  my  fault.  Just  fancy, 
down  there  it  is  as  dark  as  in  an  oven. 
I  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  our 
friend's  body  ;  but,  thanks  to  heaven, 
it  is  now  in  the  ground,  and  protected 
from  the  teeth  of  the  coyotes  and  the 
other  vermin  of  the  prairie." 

Don  Miguel  took  his  hand  and  press 
ed  it  tenderly,  while  tears  of  gratitude 
ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Valentine,"  he  said,  with  great  emo 
tion. 

"  You  are  better  than  all  of  us  ;  you 
think  of  ever3'thing ;  no  circumstance, 
however  grave  it  may  be,  can  make 
you  forget  what  you  regard  in  the  light 
of  a  duty.  Thanks,  my  friend,  thanks, 
for  having  placed  in  the  ground  the 
poor  general's  body  ;  you  have  made 
me  very  happy." 

"  That  will  do,"  Valentine  said,  as  he 
turned  his  head  away,  not  to  let  the  emo 
tion  he  felt  in  spite  of  himself,  be  notic 
ed  ;  "  suppose  we  feed  ?  1  am  fearfully 
hungry  ;  the  sun  is  rising,  and  we  have 
not  yet  quitted  that  frightful  labyrinth 
in  which  we  so  nearly  left  our  bones." 

The  hunters  set  down  round  the  fire, 
and  began  sharply  attacking  the  meal 
that  awaited  them. 

When  they  had  finished  eating,  which 
did  not  take  long,  thanks  to  Valentine, 
who  continually  urged  them  to  take 
double  mouthfuls,  they  rose  and  pre 
pared  to  start  again. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


127 


"  Let  us  pay  great  attention,  cabal- 
leros,"  the  hunter  said  to  them,  "  and 
carefully  look  around  us,  for  I  am  great 
ly  mistaken  if  we  do  not  find  a  trail 
within  an  hour." 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  so  ?" 

"  Nothing,  1  have  found  no  sign,"  Va 
lentine  answered,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  I 
feel  a  foreboding  that  we  shall  soon  find 
the  man  we  have  been  seeking  so  long." 

"  May  heaven  hear  you,  my  friend  !' 
Don  Miguel  exchumed. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !"  Valentine 
said,  as  he  set  out. 

His  comrades  followed  him.  At  this 
moment  the  sun  appeared  above  the 
horizon,  the  forest  awoke  as  if  by  en 
chantment,  and  the  birds,  concealed  be 
neath  the  foliage,  began  their  matin 
hymn,  which  they  sing  daily  to  salute 
the  sun. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 
A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 

As  we  have  said,  Madame  Guillois 
was  installed  by  her  son  at  the  winter 
village  of  the  Comanches,  and  the  In 
dians  gladly  welcomed  the  mother  of 
the  adopted  son  of  their  tribe.  The 
most  commodious  lodge  was  immediate 
ly  placed  at  her  service,  and  the  most 
delicate  attentions  were  lavished  011 
her. 

The  redskins  are  incontestably  su 
perior  to  the  whites  in  all  that  relates 
to  hospitality.  A  guest  is  sacred  to 
them  to  such  an  extent,  that  they  be 
come  his  slaves,  so  to  speak,  so  anxious 
are  they  to  satisfy  all  his  desires,  and 
even  his  slightest  caprices. 

After  Father  Seraphin  had  warned 
Red  Cedar  to  be  on  his  guard,  he  re 
turned  to  Madame  Guillois  in  order 
to  watch  more  directly  over  it.  The 
worthy  missionary  was  an  old  acquain 
tance  and  friend  of  the  Comanches,  to 
whom  he  had  been  useful  on  several  oc 
casions,  and  who  respected  in  him  not 
the  priest,  whose  sublime  mission  they 
could  not  understand,  but  the  good  and 
generous  man,  ever  ready  to  devote 
himself  to  his  fellow  men. 


Several  weeks  passed  without  pro 
ducing  anv  great  change  in  the  old  lady's 
life. 

Sunbeam,  on  her  own  private  autho 
rity,  had  constituted  herself  her  hand- 
ma'den,  amusing  her  with  her  medley 
of  Indian-Spanish  and  French,  attending 
to  her  like  a  mother,  and  trying,  by  all 
the  means  in  her  power,  to  help  her  to 
kill  time.  So  long  as  Father  Seraphin 
remained  near  her,  Madame  Guillois 
endured  her  son's  absence  very  pa 
tiently. 

The  missionary's  gentle  and  paternal 
exhortations  made  her — not  forget,  be 
cause  a  mother  never  does  that — but 
deceive  herself  as  to  the  cruelty  of  this 
seperation. 

Unhappily,  Father  Seraphin  had  im 
perious  duties  to  attend  to  which  he 
could  no  longer  neglect;  to  her  great 
regret  he  must  recommence  his  wan 
dering  life,  and  his  mission  of  self-de 
nial  and  suffering,  while  carrying  to  the 
Indian  tribes  the  light  of  the  gospel, 
and  the  succor  of  religion. 

Father  Seraphin  was  in  Madame  Guil- 
lois's  sight  a  link  of  the  chain  that  at 
tached  her  to  her  son ;  she  could  speak 
about  him  with  the  missionary,  who 
knew  the  most  secret  thoughts  of  her 
heart,  and  could  by  one  word  calm  her 
alarm,  and  restore  her  courage. 

But  when  he  left  her  for  the  first 
time  since  her  arrival  in  America,  she 
really  felt  alone,  and  lost  her  sou  once 
again,  as  it  were. 

Thus  the  seperation  was  cruel  ;  and 
she  needed  all  her  Christian  resignation 
and  long  habit  of  suffering  to  bear 
meekly  the  fresh  blow  that  struck  her. 

Indian  life  is  very  dull  and  monoto 
nous,  especially  in  winter,  in  the  heart 
of  the  forest,  in  badly  built  huts,  open 
to  all  the  winds,  when  the  leafless  trees 
are  covered  with  hoar-frost ;  the  villa 
ges  are  half  buried  beneath  the  snow, 
the  sky  is  gloomy,  and  during  the  long 
nights  the  hurricane  may  be  heard 
howling,  and  a  deluge  of  rain  falling. 

Alone,  deprived  of  a  friend  in  whose 
bosom  she  could  deposit  the  overflow 
ing  of  her  heart,  Madame  Guillois  grad 
ually  fell  into  a  gloomy  melancholy, 
from  which  nothing  could  arouse  her. 

A  woman  of  the  age  of  the  hunter's 


128 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


mother  does  not  easily  break  through 
all  her  habits  to  undertake  a  journey 
like  that  she  had  made  across  the 
American  desert. 

However  simple  and  frugal  the  life 
of  a  certain  class  of  society  may  be  in 
Europe,  they  still  enjoy  a  certain  rela 
tive  comfort,  far  superior  to  what  they 
may  expect  to  find  in  Indian  villages 
where  objects  of  primary  necessity  are 
absent,  and  life  is  reduced  to  its  sim 
plest  expression. 

Thus,  for  instance,  a  person  accus 
tomed  to  work  in  the  evening  in  a  com 
fortable  chair,  in  the  chimney  corner, 
by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  in  a  well-closed 
room,  would  never  grow  used  to  sit  on 
the  beaten  ground,  crouching  over  a 
fire,  whose  smoke  blinds  her,  in  a  win- 
dowless  hut,  only  illumined  by  the 
flickering  flame  of  a  smoky  torch. 

When  Madame  Guillois  left  Havre, 
she  had  only  one  object,  one  desire,  to 
see  her  son  again  ;  every  other  consid 
eration  must  yield  to  that:  she  gladly 
sacrificed  the  comfort  she  enjoyed  to 
find  the  son  whom  she  believed  she  had 
lost,  and  who  filled  her  heart. 

Still,  in  spite  of  her  powerful  consti 
tution  and  the  masculine  energy  of  her 
character,  when  she  had  endured  the  fa 
tigue  of  a  three  months'  voyage,  and 
the  no  less  rude  toil  of  several  weeks' 
travelling  through  forests  and  over  prai 
ries,  sleeping  in  the  open  air,  her  health 
had  gradually  broken  down,  her  strength 
was  worn  out  in  this  daily  and  hourly 
struggle,  and  wounded,  both  physically 
and  morally,  she  had  been  at  length 
forced  to  confess  herself  beaten,  and  to 
allow  that  she  was  too  weak  to  endure 
such  an  existence  longer. 

She  grew  thin  and  haggard  visibly ; 
her  cheeks  were  sunken,  her  eyes 
buried  more  and  more  deeply  in  their 
orbits,  her  face  was  pale,  her  look  lan 
guishing — in  short,  all  the  symptoms 
revealed  that  the  nature  which  had 
hitherto  so  valiantly  resisted,  was  rap 
idly  giving  way,  and  was  undermined 
by  an  illness  which  had  been  secretly 
wasting  her  for  a  long  time,  and  now 
displayed  itself  in  its  fell  proportions. 

Madame  Guillois  did  not  deceive  her 
self  as  to  her  condition,  she  calculated 
coolly  and  exactly  all  the  probable  in 


cidents,  followed  step  by  step  the  dif 
ferent  phases  of  her  illness,  and  when 
Sunbeam  anxiously  enquired  what  was 
the  matter  with  her,  and  what  she  suf 
fered  from,  she  answered  her  with  that 
calm  and  heart-breaking  smile  which 
the  man  condemned  to  death  puts  on 
when  no  hope  is  left  him — a  smile  more 
affecting  than  a  sob  : 

"It  is  nothing,  my  child, — I  am  dy 
ing." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  so 
strange  an  accent  of  gentleness  and  re 
signation  that  the  young  Indian  felt  her 
eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  hid  herself  to 
weep. 

One  morning  a  bright  sun  shone  on. 
the  village,  the  sky  was  blue,  and  the 
air  mild. 

Madame  Guillois,  seated  in  front  of 
her  calli,  was  warming  herself  in  this 
last  smile  of  autumn,  while  mechanical 
ly  watching  the  yellow  leaves,  which  a 
light  breeze  turned  round.  Not  far 
from  her  the  children  were  sporting, 
chasing  each  other  with  merry  bursts  of 
laughter. 

Unicorn's  squaw  presently  sat  down, 
by  the  old  lady's  side,  took  her  hand, 
and  looked  at  her  sympathizingly. 

"  Does  my  mother  feel  better  ?"  she 
asked  her  in  her  voice  which  was  soft 
as  the  note  of  the  Mexican  nightin 
gale. 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  little  one,"  the  old 
lady  answered,  affectionately,  "  I  am 
better." 

"  That  is  well,"  Sunbeam  replied, 
with  a  charming  smile  ;  "  for  1  have 
good  news  to  tell  my  mother." 

"  Good  news  ?"  she  said,  hurriedly, 
as  she  gave  her  a  piercing  glance ; 
"  has  my  son  arrived  ?" 

"  My  mother  would  have  seen  him 
before  this,"  the  squaw  said,  with  a 
tinge  of  gentle  reproach  in  her  voice. 

"  That  is  true,"  she  muttered  ;  "  my 
poor  Valentine  !" 

She  let  her  head  sink  sadly  on  her 
bosom. 

Sunbeam  looked  at  her  for  a  moment 
with  an  expression  of  tender  pity. 

"  Does  not  my  mother  wish  to  hear 
the  news  I  have  to  tell  her  ?"  she  went 
on. 

Madame  Guillois  sighed. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


129 


"  Speak,  my  child,"  she  said. 

"  One  of  the  great  warriors  of  the 
tribe  has  just  entered  the  village,"  the 
youug  woman  continued  ;  "  Spider  left 
the  chief  two  days  ago." 

"  Ah !"  the  old  lady  said,  carelessly, 
seeing  that  Sunbeam  stopped  ;  "  and 
where  is  the  chief  at  this  moment  ?" 

"  Spider  says  that  Unicorn  is  in  the 
mountains,  with  his  warriors ;  he  has 
seen  Koutonepi." 

"  He  has  seen  my  son  ?"  Madame 
Guillois  exclaimed. 

"  He  has  seen  him,"  Sunbeam  repeat 
ed  ;  "  the  hunter  is  pursuing  Red  Ce 
dar  with  his  friends." 

"  And — he  is  not  wounded  ?"  she  ask 
ed  anxiously. 

The  young  Indian  pouted  her  lips. 

"  Red  Cedar  is  a  dog  and  cowardly 
old  woman,''  she  said  ;  "  his  arm  is  not 
strong  enough,  or  his  eye  sure  enough 
to  wound  the  great  pale  hunter.  Kou 
tonepi  is  a  terrible  warrior,  he  despises 
the  barkings  of  the  coyote." 

Madame  Guillois  had  lived  long 
enough  among  the  Indians  to  understand 
their  figurative  expressions  ;  she  grate 
fully  pressed  the  young  squaw's  hand. 

"  Your  great  warrior  has  seen  my 
son?"  she  said  eagerly. 

"Yes,"  Sunbeam  quickly  answered, 
'*  Spider  saw  the  pale  hunter,  and 
spoke.  Koutonepi  gave  him  a  necklace 
for  my  mother." 

"  A  necklace  ?"  she  repeated,  in  sur 
prise,  not  understanding  what  the  wo 
man  meant ;  "  what  am  I  to  do  with 
itf 

Sunbeam's  face  assumed  a  serious  ex 
press  on. 

"  The  white  men  are  great  sorcerers," 
she  said,  "  they  know  how  to  make 
powerful  medicines  ;  by  figures  traced 
on  birch  bark  communicate  their 
thoughts  at  great  distances ;  space 
does  not  exist  for  them.  Will  not  my 
mother  receive  the  necklace  her  son 
sends  her  ?" 

"Give  it  me,  my  dear  child,"  she 
eagerly  answered  ;  "  everything  that 
comes  from  him  is  precious  to  me." 

The  young  squaw  drew  from  under 
her  striped  calico  dress  a  square  piece 
of  bark  of  the  size  of  her  hand,  and 
gave  it  to  her. 

9 


Madame  Guillois  took  it  curiously, 
not  knowing  what  this  present  meant. 
She  turned  it  over  and  over,  while  Sun 
beam  watched  her  attentively. 

All  at  once  the  old  lady's  features 
brightened,  and  she  uttered,  a  cry  of 
joy ;  she  had  perceived  a  few  words 
traced  on  the  inside  of  the  bark  with 
the  point  of  a  knife. 

"  Is  my  mother  satisfied  ?"  Sunbeam 
asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered. 

She  eagerly  perused  the  note ;  it  was 
short,  contained  indeed  but  a  few 
words,  yet  they  filled  the  mother  with 
delight ;  for  they  gave  her  certain  news 
of  her  son. 

This  is  what  Valentine  wrote  : 

"  My  dear  mother,  be  of  good  cheer, 
my  health  is  excellent,  I  shall  see  you 
soon  :  your  loving  son,  Valentine." 

It  was  impossible  to  write  a  more  la 
conic  letter  ;  but  on  the  desert,  where 
communication  is  so  difficult,  a  son  may 
be  thanked  for  giving  news  of  himself, 
if  only  in  a  word. 

Madame  Guillois  was  delighted,  and 
when  she  had  read  the  note  again,  <she 
turned  to  the  young  squaw. 

"  Is  Spider  a  chief?"  she  asked. 

"  Spider  is  one  of  the  great  warriors 
of  the  tribe,''  Sunbeam  answered 
proudly ;  "  Unicorn  places  great  confi 
dence  in  him." 

"  Good;  I  understand.  He  has  come 
here  on  a  particular  mission?" 

"  Unicorn  ordered  his  friend  to 
choose  twenty  picked  warriors  from 
the  tribe,  and  lead  them  to  him." 

A  sudden  idea  crossed  Madame  Guil- 
lois's  mind. 

"  Does  Sunbeam  love  me  ?"  she  ask 
ed  her. 

"  I  love  my  mother,"  the  squaw  re 
plied,  feelingly  ;  "  her  son  saved  my 
life." 

"  Does  not  my  daughter  feel  grieved 
at  being  away  from  her  husband  ?"  the 
old  lady  continued. 

"  Unicorn  is  a  great  chief;  when  he 
commands,  Sunbeam  bows  and  obeys 
without  a  murmur ;  the  warrior  is  the 
strong  arid  courageous  eagle,  the  squaw 
is  the  timid  dove." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  which  Sun- 


130 


beam  at  last  broke  by  saying,  with  a 
meaning  smile  : 

"Mv  mother  had  something  to  ask 
of  me?" 

"What  use  is  it,  dear  child?"  she 
answered  hesitatingly,  "  as  you  will 
not  grant  my  request  ?" 

"  My  mother  thinks  so,  but  is  not 
sure,"  she  said,  maliciously. 

The  old  laJy  smiled. 

"  Have  you  guessed,  then,  what  I 
was  about  to  ask  of  you  ?"  she  said. 

"  Peruapss  so ;  my  mother  will  ex 
plain,  so  that  I  may  see  whether  1  was 
mistaken." 

"  No,  it  is  useless  ;  I  know  that  my 
daughter  will  refuse." 

Sunbeam  broke  into  a  fresh  and  joy 
ous  laugh  as  she  clapped  her  little 
hands. 

"  My  mother  knows  the  contrary," 
she  said ;  "  why  does  she  not  place  con 
fidence  in  me?  has  she  ever  found  me 
unkind  ?" 

"  Never ;  you  have  always  been 
kind  and  attentive  to  me,  trying  to 
calm  my  grief,  and  dissipate  my 
fears." 

"  My  mother  can  speak  then,  as  the 
ears  of  a  friend  are  open/'  Sunbeam 
said  to  her  quietly. 

"  In  truth,"  the  old  lady  remarked, 
after  some  thought,  "what  I  desire  is 
just.  Js  Sunbeam  a  mother  ?"  she 
said,  meaningly. 

"  Yes,"  she  quickly  replied. 

"Does  my  daughter  love  her  child?'' 

The  Indian  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  Are  there  mothers  in  the  great  isl 
and  of  the  whites  who  do  not  love 
their  child?"  she  asked;  "my  child  is 
myself,  is  it  not  my  flesh  and  blood  ? 
What  is  there  dearer  to  a  mother  than 
her  child  ?'' 

"  Nothing,  that  is  true."  Madame 
Guillois  sighed.  "  If  my  daughter 
were  separated  from  her  child,  what 
would  she  do  ?" 

"What  would  I  do?"  the  Indian 
exclaimed,  with  a  flash  in  her  black 
eye;  "I  would  go  and  join  him,  no 
matter  when,  no  matter  how." 

"  Good,"  the  old  lady  remarked, 
eagerly  ;  "  I,  too,  love  my  child,  and 
my  daughter  knows  it.  Well,  1  wish 
to  join  him,  for  my  heart  is  lacerated 


at     the     thought    of    remaining     any 
longer  away  from  him." 

"  I  know  it,  that  is  natural,  it  cannot 
be  opposed.  The  flower  fades  when 
separated  from  the  stem,  the  mother  suf 
fers  when  away  from  the  son  she 
nourished  with  her  milk.  What  does 
my  mother  wish  to  do  ?" 

"  Alas !  I  wish  to  start  as  soon  as 
possible  to  enbrace  my  son." 

"  That  is  right :  I  will  help  my 
mother." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  That  is  my  business.  Spider  is 
about  to  assemble  the  council  in  order 
to  explain  his  mission  to  the  chiefs. 
Many  of  our  young  men  are  scattered 
through  the  forest,  setting  traps  and 
hunting  the  elk  to  support  their  family. 
Spider  will  want  two  days  to  collect 
the  warriors  he  needs,  and  he  will  not 
start  till  the  third  day.  My  mother 
can  be  at  rest;  I  will  speak  to  Spider, 
and  in  three  days  we  will  set  out. 

She  embraced  the  old  lady,  who  ten 
derly  responded,  then  rose  and  went 
away,  after  giving  her  a  final  sign  of 
encouragement. 

,  Madame  Guillois  returned  to  her 
calli,  her  heart  relieved  of  a  heavy 
weight  ;  for  a  long  time  she  had  not 
felt  so  happy.  She  forgot  her  sufferings 
and  the  sharp  pangs  of  illness  that  un 
dermined  her,  in  order  to  think  only 
of  the  approaching  moment  when  she 
would  embrace  her  son. 

All  happened  as  Sunbeam  had  fore 
seen. 

An  hour  later,  the  hachesto  convened 
the  chiefs  to  the  great  medicine  lodge. 
The  council  lasted  a  long  time,  and  was 
prolonged  to  the  end  ot  the  day.  Spi 
der's  demand  was  granted,  and  twenty 
warriors  were  selected  to  go  and  joiu 
the  sachem  of  the  tribe. 

But,  as  the  squaw  had  foretold,  most 
of  the  warriors  were  absent,  and  their 
return  had  to  be  awaited. 

During  the  two  succeeding  days  Sun 
beam  held  frequent  conferences  with 
Spider,  but  did  not  exchange  a  word 
with  Madame  Guillois,  contenting  her 
self,  when  the  mother's  glance  became 
too  inquiring,  by  laying  her  finger  ou 
her  lip  with  a  smile. 

The  poor  ludy  sustained  by  factitious 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


131 


strength,  a  prey  to  a  burning  fever, 
sadly  counted  the  hours  while  form 
ing  the  must  ardent  vows  for  the  success 
of  her  plan. 

At  length,  on  the  evening  of  the  se 
cond  day,  Sunbeam,  who  had  hitherto 
seemed  to  avoid  the  old  lady,  boldly  ap 
proached  her. 

"  Well?"  the  mother  asked. 

"  We  are  going." 

"When]" 

"  To-morrow,  at  daybreak." 

"  Has  Spider  pledged  his  word  to  my 
daughter  V 

"  He  has ;  so  my  mother  will  hold 
herself  in  readiness  to  start." 

"  1  am  so  now." 

The  Indian  woman  smiled. 

"  No,  to-morrow." 

At    daybreak,  us  was  agreed    on    the 

)revious  evening,  Madame  Guillois  and 

Sunbeam    set  out  under    the  escort  of 

Spider  and  his  twenty  warriors  to  join 

Unicorn. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE     SORCERER. 

ALTHOUGH  Spider  was  a  Comanche 
warrior  in  the  fullest  meaning  of  the 
term,  that  is  to  say  rash,  cunning,  brutal 
and  cruel,  the  laws  of  gallantry  were 
not  entirely  unknown  to  him,  and  he 
had  eagerly  accepted  Sunbeam's  pro 
position. 

The  Indian,  who,  like  most  of  his 
countrymen,  was  under  great  obliga 
tions  to  Valentine,  was  delighted  at  the 
opportunity  to  do  him  a  kindness. 

if  Spider  had  only  travelled  with  his 
warriors  the  journey  would  have  been 
accomplished,  to  use  a  Comanche  ex 
pression,  between  two  sunsets  ;  but 
having  with  him  two  women,  one  of 
whom  was  not  only  old,  but  an  Euro 
pean,  that  is  to  say,  quite  unused  to 
desert  life,  be  understood,  without  any 
one  making  the  remark — for  Madame 
Guillois  would  have  died  sooner  than 
complain,  and  she  alone  could  have 
spoken — that  he  must  completely  mo 
dify  his  mode  of  travelling,  and  he  did 
so. 

The  women,  mounted  on  powerful 
8 


horses  (Madame  Guillois  being  comfor 
tably  seated  on  a  cushion  made  of  seven 
or  eight  panthers  skins)  were,  for  fear  of 
any  accident,  placed  in  the  middle  of  the 
band,  which  did  not  take  Indian  file, 
owing  to  its  numerical  strength. 

They  trotted  on  thus  during  the  whole 
day,  and  at  sunset  Spider  gave  orders  to 
camp.  He  was  one  of  the  first  to  dis 
mount,  and  cut  with  his  knife  a  number 
of  branches,  of  which  he  formed,  as  if 
by  enchantment,  a  hut  to  protect  the 
two  females  from  the  dew. 

The  fires  were  lighted,  supper  pre 
pared,  and  immediately  after  the  meal, 
all  prepared  to  sleep  except  the  sen 
tries. 

Madame  Guillois  alone  did  not  sleep, 
lor  fever  and  impatience  kept  her  awake; 
she  therefore  spent  the  whole  night 
crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  hut,  reflect 
ing. 

At  sunrise  they  started  again  ;  as 
they  were  approaching  the  mountains 
the  wind  grew  cold,  and  a  dense  log 
covered  the  prairie.  All  wrapped  them 
selves  up  carefully  in  their  furs  until 
the  sun  gained  sufficient  strength  to  ren 
der  this  precaution  unnecessary. 

in  some  parts  of  America  the  climate 
has  this  disagreeable  peculiarity,  that 
in  the  morning  the  frost  is  strong 
enough  to  split  stones,  at  midday  the 
heat  is  stifling,  and  in  the  evening  the 
thermometer  tails  again  below  zero. 

The  day  passed  without  any  incident 
worth  recording. 

Toward  evening,  at  about  an  hour 
before  the  halt,  Spider,  who  was  gallop 
ing  as  scout  about  one  hundred  yards 
ahead,  discovered  footsteps.  They  were 
clear,  fresh,  regular,  deep,  and  seemed 
to  be  made  by  a  young,  powerful  man 
accustomed  to  walking. 

Spider  rejoined  his  party  without  im 
parting  his  discovery  to  any  one  ;  but 
Sunbeam,  by  whose  side  he  was  riding, 
suddenly  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder, 
to  attract  his  attention. 

"  Look  there,  warrior,"  she  said, 
pointing  a  little  to  the  left,,  "  does  that 
look  like  a  man  marching  ?" 

The  Indian  stopped,  put  his-  hand 
over  his  eyes  as  a  shade,  to  concentrate 
his  attention,  and  examined  fur  a  long 
time  the  point  the  ohief  s  squaw  pointed 


132 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


out.  At  length  he  set  out  again,  shak 
ing  his  head  repeatedly. 

"  Well,  what  does  my  brother 
think?"  Sunbeam  asked. 

"  It  is  a  man,"  he  answered  ;  "  from 
here  it  appears  an  Indian,  and  yet  I 
either  saw  badly,  or  am  mistaken." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Listen  :  you  are  the  wife  of  the 
first  chief  of  the  tribe,  and  so  I  can  tell 
you  this,  there  is  something  strange 
about  the  affair.  A  few  minutes  back 
I  discovered  footprints  ;  by  the  direc 
tion  they  follow  it  is  plain  they  were 
made  by  that  man — the  more  so,  as 
they  are  fresh,  as  if  made  a  little  while 
ago." 

"Well?" 

"  These  are  not  the  footprints  of  a 
redskin,  but  of  a  white." 

"  That  is  really  strange,"  the  squaw 
.muttered  and  became  serious ;  "  but 
are  you  quite  sure  of  what  you  as 
sert  ?" 

The  Indian  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  Spider  is  a  warrior,"  he  said  ;  "  a 
•child  of  eight  years  could  have  seen  it 
as  well  as  1;  the  feet  are  turned  out, 
while  the  Indians  turn  them  in  ;  the 
great  toe  is  close  to  the  others,  while 
ours  grow  out  considerably.  With 
such  signs,  I  ask  my  sister  can  a  man 
be  deceived  ?" 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said  ;  "  I  cannot 
understand  it." 

"  And  stay,"  he  continued  ;  "  now 
we  are  nearer  the  man,  just  watch  his 
behavior,  it  is  plain  he  is  trying  to  hide 
himself;  he  fancies  we  have  not  yet  re 
marked  him,  and  is  acting  in  accord 
ance.  He  is  stooping  duwn  behind 
that  mastic :  now  he  reappears.  See, 
he  stops,  he  is  reflecting ;  he  fears  lest 
we  have  seen  him,  and  his  walking  may 
appear  suspicious  to  us.  Now  he  is 
sitting  down  to  await  us." 

"  We  must  be  on  our  guard,"  said 
Sunbeam. 

"  1  am  watching,"  Spider  replied, 
with  an  ill-omened  smile. 

In  the  meanwhile  all  Spider  had  de 
scribed  had  taken  place,  point  by  point. 

The  stranger,  after  trying  several 
times  to  hide  himself  behind  the  bushes 
or  disappear  in  the  mountains,  calculat 
ed  that  it  he  fled  the  persons  he  saw 


could  soon  catch  him  up,  as  he  was  dis 
mounted.  Then,  making  up  his  mind 
to  risk  it,  he  sat  down  with  his  back 
against  a  tamarind-tree,  and  quietly 
smoked  while  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  horsemen,  who  were  'quickly  com 
ing  ^up. 

The  nearer  the  Comanches  came  to 
this  man-,  the  more  like  an  Indian  he 
looked.  When  they  were  only  a  few 
paces  from  him,  all  doubts  were  at  an 
end  ;  he  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  one  of 
those  countless  vagabond  sorcerers  who 
go  from  tribe  to  tribe  in  the  Far  West 
to  cure  the  sick  and  practice  their  en 
chantment. 

In  fact,  the  sorcerer  was  no  other 
than  Nathan,  as  the  reader  has  doubt 
less  guessed. 

After  so  nobly  recompensing  the  ser 
vice  rendered  him  by  the  poor  juggler, 
whose  science  had  not  placed  him  on 
his  guard  against  such  abominable  trea 
chery,  Nathan  went  off  at  full  speed, 
resolved  on  crossing  the  enemy's  lines, 
thanks  to  the  disguise  he  wore  with  rare 
perfection. 

When  he  perceived  the  horsemen,  he 
attempted  to  fly  ;  but  unfortunately  for 
him  he  was  tired,  and  in  a  part  so  open 
and  denuded  of  chapparal  that,  he  soon 
saw,  if  he  attempted  to  bolt,  he  should 
inevitably  ruin  himself  by  arousing  the 
suspicions  of  these  men,  who,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  they  did  not  know  him, 
would  probably  pass  him  with  a  bow. 
He  also  counted  on  the  superstitious 
character  of  the  Indians  and  his  own  re 
markable  stock  of  impudence  and  bold 
ness  to  deceive  them. 

These  reflections  Nathan  made  with 
that  speed  and  certainty  which  distin 
guish  men  of  action ;  he  made  up  his 
mind  in  a  moment,  and  sitting  down  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  coolly  awaited  the  ar 
rival  of  the  strangers. 

Moreover,    we    may    remark,    that 
Nathan  was  gifted  with  daring  and  ii 
domitable  spirit;  the  critical  position  ir 
which  chance  suddenly  placed  him,  ir 
stead   of  frightening  pleased   him,  anc 
caused    him    a    feeling  which   was    not 
without  its  charm  with  a  man  of  his 
stamp. 

He  boldly  assumed  the  borrowed 
character,  and  when  the  Indians  stop- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


133 


ped  in  front  of  him,  he  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  My  sons  are  welcome  to  my  bi 
vouac,"  he  said,  with  that  marked  gut 
tural  accent  that  belongs  to  the  red  race 
alone,  and  which  the  white  men  have 
such  difficulty  in  imitating  ;  "  as  the 
Wacondah  has  brought  them  here,  I 
will  strive  to  fulfil  his  intentions  by  re 
ceiving;  them  as  well  as  I  possibly  can." 

"  Thanks,"  Spider  replied,  giving  him 
a  scrutinizing  glance  ;  "  we  accept  our 
brother's  offer  as  freely  as  it  is  made. 
My  young  men  will  camp  with  him." 

He  gave  his  orders,  which  were  im 
mediately  carried  out. 

As  on  the  previous  evening.  Spider 
built  a  hut  for  the  females,  to  which 
they  immediately  withdrew. 

The  sorcerer  had  given  them  a  glance 
•which  made  them  shudder  all  over. 

After  supper,  Spider  lit  his  pipe  and 
sat  down  near  the  sorcerer;  he  wished 
to  converse  with  him  and  clear  up,  not 
his  suspicions,  but  the  doubts  he  enter 
tained  about  him. 

The  Indian,  however,  felt  for  this  man 
an  inviacible  repulsion  for  which  he 
could  not  account. 

Nathan,  although  smoking  with  all 
the  gravity  the  redsJdns  display  in  this 
operation,  and  wrapping  himself  up  in 
a  dense  cloud  of  smoke,  which  issued 
from  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  closely 
watched  all  the  Indian's  movements, 
while  not  appearing  to  trouble  himself 
about  him. 

"  My  father  is  travelling  ?"  Spider 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  pretended  sorcerer  laconi 
cally  replied, 

"  Has  he  done  so  long  ?" 

"  For  eight  moons." 

"  Wah  !"  the  Indian  said  in  surprize; 
"  where  does  my  father  come  from, 
then  ?" 

Nathan  took,  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 
assumed  a  mysterious  air,  and  answer 
ed  gravely  and  reservedly  : 

"  The  Wacondah  is  omnipotent,  those 
to  whom  the  Master  of  Life  speaks, 
keep  his  words  in  their  heart." 

"That  is  just,"  Spider,  who  did  not 
understand  him,  answered,  with  a  bow. 

"  My  son  is  a  warrior  of  the  terrible 


queen  of  the  prairies  ?"  the  sorcerer 
went  on. 

"  I  am  indeed,  a  Comanche  warrior." 

"  Is  my  son  on  the  hunting  p;ith  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  at  this  moment  on  the 
war  trail." 

"  Wah  !  does  my  son  hope  to  deceive 
a  great  medicine  man,  that  he  utters 
such  word  before  him  ?" 

"  My  words  are  true,  my  blood  runs 
pure  as  water  in  my  veins,a  lie  never  sul 
lied  my  lips,  my  heart  only  breathes 
the  truth,"  Spider  answered,  with  a  cer 
tain  haughtiness,  internally  wounded  by 
the  sorcerer's  suspicions. 

"  Good,  I  am  willing  to  believe  him," 
the  latter  went  on  ;  "  but  when  did  the 
Comanches  begin  to  take  their  squaws 
with  them  on  the  war  path?" 

"  The  Comanches  are  masters  of  their 
actions  ;  no  one  has  a  right  to  control 
them." 

Nathan  felt  that  he  was  on  a  wrong 
track,  and  that  if  the  conversation  went 
on  in  this  way,  he  should  offend  a  man 
whom  he  had  such  an  interest  in  concil 
iating.  He  therefore  altered  his  tac 
tics. 

"  I  do  not  claim  any  right,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  to  control  the  acts  of  warriors 
tor  am  I  not  a  man  of  peace  ?" 

Spider  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  In  truth,"  he  said,  in  a  good-hum 
oured  tone,  "  great  medicine  men  such 
as  my  father  are  like  women,  they  live 
a  long  time  ;  the  Wacondah  protects 
them." 

The  sorcerer  refrained  from  noticing 
the  bitter  sarcasm  the  speaker  display 
ed  in  his  remark. 

"  Is  my  son  returning  to  his  village  ?" 
he  asked  him. 

"  No,"  the  other  answered,  "  I  am 
going  to  join  the  great  chief  of  my  tribe, 
who  is  on  an  expedition,  with  his  most 
celebrated  warriors." 

"  To  what  tribe  does  my  son  belong, 
then  ?" 

"  To  that  of  Unicorn." 

Nathan  trembled  inwardly,  though 
his  face  remained  unmoved. 

"  Wah  !"  he  said,  "  Unicorn  is  a  great 
chief;  his  renown  is  spread  over  the 
whole  earth.  What  warrior  could  con 
tend  with  him  on  the  prairie  ?" 


134 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  Does  my  father  know  him  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  honour,  though  I  have 
often  desired  it  ;  never  to  this  day  have 
I  been  able  to  meet  the  celebrated 
chief." 

"  If  my  father  desires  it,  I  will  intro 
duce  him." 

"  It  would  be  happiness  for  me  ;  but 
the  mission  the  Wacondah  has  confid 
ed  to  me  claims  my  presence  far  from 
here.  Time  presses  ;  and,  in  spite  of 
my  desire,  1  cannot  leave  my  road." 

"  Good !  Unicorn  is  hardly  three 
hours  march  from  the  spot  where  we 
now  are ;  we  shall  reach  his  camp  at 
au  early  hour  to-morrow." 

"  How  is  it  that  my  son,  who  seems 
to  me  a  prudent  warrior,  should  have 
halted  here,  when  so  near  his  chief?" 

All  suspicion  had  been  removed  from 
the  Indian's  mind,  so  he  answered  frank 
ly  this  time,  without  trying  to  disguise 
the  truth,  and  laying  all  reticence  aside. 
-  "  My  father  is  right.  I  would  cer 
tainly  have  continued  my  journey  to  the 
chief's  camp,  and  reached  it  this  even 
ing  before  the  shriek  of  the  owl,  but  the 
two  squaws  with  me  delayed  me  and 
compelled  me  to  act  as  J  have  done." 

"  My  son  is  young,"  Nathan  answer 
ed,  with  an  insinuating  smile. 

"My  father  is  mistaken;  the  squaws 
are  sacred  to  me ;  1  love  and  respect 
them.  The  one  is  Unicorn's  own  wife, 
who  is  returning  to  her  husband  ;  the 
other  is  a  pale-face,  her  hair  is  white  as 
the  snow  that  passes  over  our  heads 
driven  by  the  evening  breeze,  and  her 
body  is  bowed  beneath  the  weight  of 
winters;  she  is  the  mother  of  a  great 
hunter  of  the  pale-faces,  the  adopted  son 
of  our  tribe,  whose  name  has  doubtless 
reached  our  father's  ears." 

"  How  is  he  called  V 

"  Koutonepi." 

At  this  name,  which  he  might  have 
expected,  however,  Nathan  involuntarily 
gave  such  a  start  that  Spider  perceived 
it. 

"  Can  Koutonepi  be  an  enemy  of  my 
father1?"  he  asked,  with  astonishment. 
•  "  On  the  contrary,"  Nathan  hastened 
to  reply  ;  "  the  men  protected  by  the 
Wacondah  have  no  enemies,  as  my  son 
knows.  The  joy  I  felt  on  hearing  his 


name  uttered  caused   the  emotion  my 
son  noticed." 

"  My  father  must  have  powerful  rea 
sons  for  displaying  such  surprise." 

"  I  have,  indeed,  very  powerful,"  the 
sorcerer  replied  with  feigned  delight; 
"  Koutonepi  saved  my  mother's  life." 

This  falsehood  was  uttered  with  such 
magnificent  coolness,  and  such  a  well- 
assumed  air  of  truth,  that  the  Indian 
was  convinced  and  bowed  respectfully 
to  the  pretended  sorcerer. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  "  I  am  certain 
that  my  father  will  not  mind  leaving  his 
road  a  little  to  see  the  man  to  whom  he 
is  attached  by  such  strong  ties  of  grati 
tude  ;  for  it  is  very  probable  that  we 
shall  meet  Koutonepi  at  Unicorn's 
camp." 

Nathan  made  a  grimace  ;  as  usually 
happens  to  rogues,  who  try  to  prove 
too  much,  in  dissipating  suspicions  at 
all  hazards  he  had  caught  himself.  Now 
he  understood  that,  unless  he  wished  to 
become  again  suspected,  he  must  under 
go  the  consequences  of  his  falsehood  and 
go  with  Spider  to  his  destination. 

The  American  did  not  hesitate;  he 
trusted  to  his  star  to  get  him  out  of  the 
scrape. 

Chance  is,  before  all,  the  deity  of 
bandits;  they  count  on  it,  and  we  are 
forced  to  concede  that  they  are  rarely 
deceived. 

"  I  will  accompany  my  son  to  Uni 
corn's  camp,"  he  said. 

The  conversation  went  on  for  some 
time,  and  when  the  night  had  quite  set 
in,  Spider  took  leave  of  the  sorcerer,  and 
following  his  custom  since  tho  beginning 
of  the  journey,  lay  down  across  the  door 
of  the  hut  in  which  the  two  females  re 
posed  and  speedily  fell  asleep. 

Left  alone  by  the  fire,  Nathan  took  a 
searching  glance  around  ;  the  sentinels, 
motionless  as  statues  of  bronze,  were 
watching  as  they  leant  on  their  long 
lances.  Any  flight  was  impossible. 

The  American  gave  a  sigh  of  regret 
wrapped  himself  in  his  buffalo  robe,  an 
lay  down,  muttering : 

"  Bah !  to-morrow  it  will  be  day. 
Since  I  have  succeeded  in  deceiving  this 
man,  why  should  I  not  do  the  same  with 
the  others  ?" 

And  he  fell  asleep. 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


135 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

WHITE    GAZELLE. 

THE  night  passed  quietly. 

As  soon  as  the  sun  appeared  on  the 
horizon,  all  were  in  motion  in  the  camp, 
preparing  for  departure.  The  horses 
were  saddled,  the  ranks  formed,  the 
two  females  left  the  hut,  placed  them 
selves  in  the  middle  of  the  detachment, 
and  only  the  order  to  start  was  await 
ed. 

Nathan,  then  acting  in  conformity 
with  his  sorcerer's  character,  took  a  cal 
abash,  which  he  filled  with  water,  and 
dipping  a  branch  of  wormwood  in  it, 
he  sprinkled  the  four  winds,  muttering 
mysterious  words  to  exorcise  the  spirit 
of  evil ;  then  he  threw  the  contents  of 
the  calabash  toward  the  sun,  shouting  in 
a  loud  voice,  three  different  times — 

"Sun,  receive  this  offering;  regard 
us  with  a  favorable  eye,  for  we  are  thy 
children." 

So  soon  as  this  ceremony  was  ended, 
the  Indians  joyously  set  out. 

The  sorcerer's  incantation  had  pleas 
ed  them,  the  more  so  as  at  the  moment 
of  starting,  four  bald-headed  eagles,  un 
furling  their  wide  wings,  had  slowly  ris 
en  on  their  right,  mounting  in  a  straight 
line  to  heaven,  when  they  soon  disap 
peared  at  a  prodigious  height.  The 
omens  were,  therefore,  most  favorable, 
and  the  sorcerer  suddenly  acquired  im 
mense  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  su 
perstitious  Comanches. 

Still,  two  persons  felt  a  prejudice  for 
this  man  which  they  could  not  over 
come  :  they  were  Sunbeam  and  the 
hunter's  mother. 

Each  moment  they  involuntarily 
looked  at  the  sorcerer,  who,  warned  by 
a  species  of  intuition  of  the  scrutiny  of 
which  he  was  the  object,  kept  at  a  res 
pectful  distance,  walking  at  the  head  of 
the  party  by  the  side  of  Spider,  with 
whom  he  conversed  in  a  low  voice  to 
keep  him  by  him,  and  prevent  him 
joining  the  two  females,  who  might 
have  communicated  their  suspicions  to 
him. 

The  party  ambled  through  a  grand 
and  striking  scenery  ;  here  and  there 
they  saw,  scattered  irregularly  over  the 


plains,  spherically  shaped  rocks,  whose 
height  varied  from  two  to  four,  and 
even  five  hundred  feet. 

On  the  east  rose  the  spires  of  the  Si 
erra  de  los  Comanches,  among  which 
the  travelers  now  were.  The  denuded 
peaks  raised  their  white  summits  to  the 
skies,  extending  far  north,  until  they 
appeared  in  the  horizon  only  a  slight 
vapor,  which  an  inexperienced  eye 
might  have  taken  for  clouds,  but  the 
Comanches  recognised  very  plainly  as  a 
continuation  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

On  the  left  of  the  travelers,  and  al 
most  at  their  feet,  extended  an  immense 
desert,  bordered  on  the  distant  horizon 
by  another  line  of  almost  impercepti 
ble  vapor,  marking  the  site  of  the 
Rocky  Chain. 

The  Indians  ascended  insensibly,  by 
almost  impracticable  paths,  where  their 
horses  advanced  so  boldly,  however, 
that  they  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground, 
so  secure  was  their  foothold. 

As  they  got  deeper  into  the  moun 
tains  the  cold  grew  sharper;  at  length, 
about  nine  o'clock,  after  crossing  a  deep 
gorge  let  in  between  two  tall  mountains, 
whose  masses  intercepted  the  sunbeams, 
they  entered  a  srniiing  valley  about 
three  miles  in  extent,  in  the  centre  of 
which  the  tents  rose  and  the  camp-fires 
smoked. 

So  soon  as  the  vedettes  signalled  the 
approach  of  Spider's  detachment,  some 
sixty  warriors  mounted  and  rode  to 
meet  them,  firing  guns,  and  uttering 
shouts  of  welcome,  to  which  the  new 
comers  responded  by  blowing  their 
war-whistles,  from  which  they  produced 
sharp  and  prolonged  sounds. 

They  tiien  entered  the  camp,  and 
proceeded  toward  Unicorn's  hut. 

The  chief,  already  informed  of  the 
arrival  of  the  reinforcement  he  expect 
ed,  was  standing  with  folded  arms  be 
fore  his  calli,  between  the  totem  and 
the  great  calumet. 

Unicorn  inspected  the  warriors  with 
a  rapid  glance,  and  noticed  the  two  fe 
males  and  the  strange  sorcerer  they 
brought  with  them  ;  still  he  did  not 
appear  to  see  them  :  his  face  revealed 
no  sign  of  emotion  :  and  he  waited 
stoically  for  Spider  to  give  him  a  re 
port  of  his  mission 


136 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


The  Comanche  warrior  dismounted, 
threw  his  bridle  to  one  of  his  comrades, 
crossed  his  hands  on  his  chest,  bowed 
deeply  each  time  he  took  a  step,  and  on 
arriving  a  short  distance  from  the  sa 
chem,  he  bowed  a  last  time  as  he  said  : 

'•  Spider  has  accomplished  his  mis 
sion  :  he  put  on  gazelle's  feet  to  return 
more  speedily." 

"  Spider  is  an  experienced  warrior, 
in  whom  I  have  entire  confidence. 
Does  he  bring  me  the  number  of 
young  men  1  asked  of  the  nation  ?" 
Unicorn  replied. 

"The  elders  assembled  round  the 
council  fire,  they  lent  an  ear  to  Spider's 
words.  The  twenty  young  warriors 
are  here,  boiling  with  courage,  and 
proud  to  follow  on  the  war -trail  so  ter 
rible  a  chief  as  my  father." 

Unicorn  smiled  proudly  at  this  com 
pliment  ;  but  assuming  almost  imme 
diately  the  rigid  expression  which  was 
the  usual  character  of  his  face,  he  said  : 

"  1  have  heard  the  song  of  the  cent- 
zontle,  my  ear  was  struck  by  the  me 
lodious  modulations  of  its  voice.  Am 
I  mistaken,  or  has  it  really  formed  its 
nest  beneath  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
oaks  or  pines  in  this  valley  ?" 

"  My  father  is  mistaken  ;  he  has  not 
heard  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  but 
the  voice  of  the  friend  of  his  heart  has 
reached  him  and  caused  him  to  start," 
Sunbeam  said  softly,  as  she  timidly  ap 
proached  him. 

The  chief  looked  at  his  wife  with  a 
mixture  of  love  and  sternness. 

'•  Soul  of  my  life,"  he  said,  "  why 
have  you  left  the  village  1  is  your 
place  among  the  warriors  1  ought  the 
wife  of  a  chief  to  join  him  on  the  war- 
trail  without  permission  T' 

The  young  squaw  let  her  eyes  fall, 
and  two  liquid  pearls  trembled  at  the 
end  of  her  long  eyelashes. 

"  Unicorn  is  severe  to  his  wife,"  she 
replied  sadly  ;  "  winter  is  coming  on 
apace,  the  tall  trees  have  been  stripped 
of  their  leaves,  the  snow  is  falling  on 
the  mountains,  Sunbeam  is  restless  in 
her  solitary  lodge ;  for  many  moons 
the  chief  has  left  his  squaw  alone,  and 
gone  away  ;  she  wished  to  see  once 
more  the  man  she  loves." 

"  Sunbeam  is    the  wife   of   a    chief, 


her  heart  is  strong  ;  she  has  often  been 
separated  from  Unicorn,  and  ever 
awaited  his  return  without  complaining; 
why  is  her  conduct  different  to-day  ?" 

The  young  woman  took  Madame 
Guillois's  hand. 

"Koutonepi's  mother  wishes  to  see 
her  son  again,"  she  simply  answered. 

Unicorn's  face  grew  brighter,  and  his 
voice  softened. 

"  My  brother's  mother  is  welcome  in 
Unicorn's  camp,"  he  said,  as  he  courte 
ously  bowed  to  the  old  lady. 

"  Is  not  my  son  with  you,  chief?"  she 
anxiously  asked. 

"  No,  but  my  mother  can  be  at  rest  ; 
if  she  desire  it,  she  shall  see  him  before 
the  second  sun." 
"  Thanks,  chief." 

"  I  will  send  a  warrior  to  tell  Kou- 
tonepi  of  his  mother's  presence  among 
us." 

"  I  will  go  myself,"  Spider  said. 
"  Good  !  that  is  settled.     My  mother 
will  enter  iny  lodge  to  take  the  rest  she 
needs." 

The  two  females  withdrew,  and  only 
one  person  now  remained  before  Uni 
corn,  and  that  was  the  feigned  sorcerer. 
The  two  men  examined  each  other 
attentively. 

"  Oh,"  the  chief  said,  "  what  fortu 
nate  accident  brings  my  father  to  my 
camp  ?" 

"The  messengers  of  Wacondah  go 
whither  he  orders  them  without  discuss 
ing  his  will,"  Nathan  answered  drily. 

"  That  is  true,"    the  chief  went   on  ; 
'  what  does  my  father  desire?" 
"  Hospitality  for  the  night." 
"  Hospitality  is  granted   even  to  an 
enemy  in  the  desert ;  is    my  father  ig 
norant  of  the  customs  of  the  prairie,  that 
le  asks  it  of  me  ?"  the  chief  said,  giving 
lim  a  suspicious  look. 
Nathan  bit  his  lips. 
"  My  father  did  not  quite  understand 
my  words,"  he  said. 

"  No  matter,"  Unicorn  interrupted 
him  authoritatively  ;  "the  Great  Medi- 
ine-man  will  pass  the  night  in  the  camp; 
a  guest  is  sacred  to  the  Comanches;  only 
traitors,  when  they  are  unmasked,  are 
punished  as  they  deserve.  My  father 
can  retire." 

Nathan   shuddered  inwardly  at  these 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


137 


words,  which  apparently  indicated  thf 

the  sachem  had  his  suspicions.      Stil 

he  shut  up  his    fears  in  his   heart,  an 

continued   to  keep  a  good  countenanc 

"  Thanks,"  he  said  with  a  bow. 

Onicorn  returned  his  salute,  and  walk 

ed  away. 

"  Hum  !"  the  American  muttered  t 
himself  ;  "  I  fancy  1  did  wrong  to  vei 
ture  among  these  demons  ;  the  eyes  o 
that  accursed  chief  seemed  to  read  m 
through.  I  must  be  on  my  guard." 

While  making  these  reflections,  Na 
than  walked  slowly  on,  with  head  erect 
apparently  delighted  at  the  result  of  hi 
interview  with  Unicorn. 

At  this  moment,  a  rider  entered  th 
valley  at  full   speed,   and   passed   two 
paces  from  the  sorcerer,  exchanging  a 
glance  with  him. 
Nathan  started. 
"  If  she  recognized  me,  I  am  a  gone 
coon,"  he  said. 

It  was  White  Gazelle,  whom  the 
Comanches  saluted  as  she  passed,  and 
she  proceeded  to  Unicorn's  lodge. 

"  I  am  in  the  wolf's  throat,"  Nathan 
went  on ;  "  my  presumption  will  cause 
my  ruin.  There  is  one  thing  a  man 
cannot  disguise,  and  that  is  his  eye  ;  the 
Gazelle  knows  me  too  well  to  be  deceiv 
ed  ;  I  must  try  to  get  away  while  there 
is  still  time." 

Nathan  was  too  resolute  a  man  to 
despair  uselessly  ;  he  did  not  lose  a  mo 
,  ment  in  idle  lamentations  ;  on  the  con 
trary,  with  that  clearness  of  perception 
which  danger  gives  to  courageous  peo 
ple,  he  calculated  in  a  few  moments 
the -chances  of  success  left  him,  and 
prepared  for  a  desperate  struggle.  He 
knew  too  well  the  horrible  punishment 
that  menaced  him,  not  to  defend  his  life 
to  the  last  extremity. 

Without  stopping,  or  altering  his 
pace,  he  walked  on  in  the  previous  di 
rection,  returning  the  salutes  the  war 
riors  gave  him. 

Thus  he  reached,  undisturbed,  the  end 
of  the  camp.  He  did  not  dare  turn  his 
head  to  see  what  was  going  on  behind 
him ;  but  his  practised  ear  listened  for 
every  suspicious  sound.  Nothing  appa 
rently  confirmed  his  apprehensions,  and 
the  camp  was  still  plunged  in  the  same 
repose. 


"  I  was  mistaken,"  he  muttered  ; 
"she  did  not  recognize  me.  My  dis 
guise  is  good;  I  was  too  easily  fright 
ened.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  better  to 
remain.  Oh,  no,  it  is  not,"  he  added 
almost  directly  ;  "1  feel  convinced  I  am 
not  safe  there." 

He  took  a  step  to  enter  the  forest ; 
but  at  tins  moment  a  heavy  hand  fell  ou 
his  shoulder.  He  stopped  and  turned. 

Spider  was  by  his  side. 
"Where  is  my  father  going?"  the 
warrior  asked,  in  a  slightly  sarcastic 
voice,  well  adapted  to  increase  the 
American's  alarm  ;  "  I  think  he  must  be 
mistaken." 

"  Why  so  ?"  Nathan  asked,  striving 
to  regain  his  coolness. 

"  In  the  way  my  father  is  going,  he 
is  leaving  the  camp." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  Did  not  my  faiher  ask  hospitality 
of  the  sachem  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"Then,  why  is  he  going  away?" 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  going,  war- 
ior  ?" 

"  Why,  I  fancy  the  direction  you  hare 
aken  leads  to  the  forest." 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that,  for  I  was 
;oing  there  to  pluck  some,  magic  plants, 
n  order  to  compose  a  great  medicine, 
tfhich  I  wish  to  ofler  the  chief  to  render 
lim  invulnerable." 

"  Wah  !"  the  Indian  said,  with  spark 
ing  eyes ;  "  when  you  tell  him  that,  I 
'o  not  doubt  he  will  let  you  go  wherever 
ou  please." 

"  What,  am  I  a  prisoner,  then  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  the  order  has  been 
iven  that  no  one  should  leave  the 
:imp  without  permission ;  and  as  you 
id  not  ask  for  it,  I  am  forced,  to  my 
reat  regret,  to  stop  you." 

"  Very  well ;  I  remain,  but  I  will  re- 
nember  the  way  in  which  the  Coman 
lies  offer  hospitality." 

"  My  father  does  wrong  to  speak 
lus  ;  the  honor  of  the  nation  demands 
iat  this  matter  should  be  settled  with- 
ut  delay.  My  father  will  follow  me 
o  the  chief;  I  am  certain  that,  after  a 
lort  explanation,  all  misunderstanding 
ill  cease." 

Nathan  scented  a  trap. 
Spider,  while  speaking  to  him,  had  a 


138 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


soothing  way,  which  only  slightly  reas 
sured  him.  The  proposal  made  him 
was  not  at  all  to  his  taste ;  but  as  lie 
was  not  the  stronger,  and  had  no  chance 
of  evasion,  he  consented,  much  against 
the  grain,  to  follow  Spider  and  return 
to  Unicorn's  lodge. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said  to  the  Indian. 
)       Nathan  silently  followed  Spider. 
s       Unicorn  was  seated  before  his  lodge, 
surrounded  by  his  principal  chiefs  ;  near 
him   stood   White  Gazelle,  leaning  on 
her  rifle  barrel.    'When  the  pretended 
sorcerer   arrived,    the    Indians  did    not 
give  the  slightest  intimation  that   they 
knew  who  he  was. 

The  American  took  a  sharp  look 
round. 

"  I  am  done,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  they  are  too  quiet." 

Still,  he  placed  himself  before  them, 
crossed  his  arms  on  his  chest,  and  wait 
ed.  Then  White  Gazelle  fixed  on  him 
an  implacable  glance,  and  said,  in  a  voice 
which  made  his  blood  run  cold  : 

"  Nathan,  the  chiefs  wish  you  to 
perform  one  of  those  miracles  of  which 
the  sorcerers  of  their  tribes  possess 
the  secret,  and  of  which  they  are  so 
liberal." 

All  eyes  were  curiously  turned  to 
the  American;  all  awaited  his  reply  to 
judge  whether  he  was  a  brave  man 
or  coward.  He  understood  this,  for 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  dis 
dain,  and  answered,  with  a  haughty 
srnile  : 

"  The  Comanches  are  dogs  and  old 
women — the  men  of  my  nation  drive 
them  back  with  whips.  They  pretend 
to  be  so  clever,  and  yet  a  white  man 
has  deceived  them,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  you,  Nina,  deuce  take  me  if 
they  would  have  detected  me." 

"  Then  you  confess  you  are  not  an 
Indian  sorcerer?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  This  Indian  skin 
I  have  put  on  smells  unpleasantly, 
and  oppresses  me;  I  throw  it  off'  to 
resume  my  proper  character,  which  I 
ought  never  to  have  left." 

White  Gazelle  turned  with  a  smile 
to  Unicorn. 

"  The  chief  sees,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  see,"  he  replied,  and  address 


ing  the  American,  he  asked — "  Is   my 
brother  a  warrior  in  his  nation  1" 

The  other  grinned. 

"lam,"  he  answered,  danntlessly, 
"  the  son  of  Red  Cedar,  the  implacable 
foe  of  your  accursed  race  ;  my  name  is 
Nathan.  Do  with  me  what  you  like, 
dogs,  but  you  will  not  draw  a  complaint 
from  my  lips,  a  tear  from  my  eyes,  or 
a  sigh  from  my  lips." 

At  these  haughty  words  a  murmur 
of  satisfaction  ran  round  the  audience. 

"Ah!"  Unicorn  said,  to  whom 
White  Gazelle  had  whispered,  "  what 
was  Red  Cedar's  son  doing  in  the  camp 
of  the  Comanches  ?" 

"  I  should  be  greatly  embarrassed  to 
tell  you,  chief,"  the  young  man  an 
swered,  frankly  ;  "  I  was  not  looking 
for  you,  but  only  wished  to  cross  your 
lines  and  escape.  That  was  all." 

An  incredulous  smile  played  round 
White  Gazelle's  lips. 

"  Does  Nathan  take  us  for  children," 
she  said,  "  that  he  tries  so  clumsily  to 
deceive  us  ?'' 

"  Believe  me  what  you  please,  I  do 
not  care;  I  have  answered  you  the 
truth." 

"  You  will  not  persuade  us  that  you 
fell  unwittingly  among  your  enemies 
while  thus  disguised." 

"  You  have  done  so  too,  Nina;  one 
i's  not  more  extraordinary  than  the 
other,  I  presume.  However,  I  repeat 
accident  did  it  all." 

"  Hum  !  that  is  not  very  probable  ;' 
your    father   and    brother   are    in    the 
vicinity  through  the    same   accident,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"  As  for  them,  may  the  devil  twist 
my  neck  if  I  know  where  they  are  at 
this  moment." 

"I  expected  that  answer  from  you; 
unluckily  warriors  have  scattered  in 
every  direction,  and  will  soon  find 
them." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it ;  however,  what 
do  I  care  1  all  the  better  for  them  if 
they  escape  ;  all  the  worse  if  they  fall 
into  your  hands." 

"  1  need  not  tell  you,  I  fancy,  the 
fate  that  awaits  you  ?" 

"  t  have  known  it  a  long  time ;  the 
worthy  redskins  will  probably  amuse 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


139 


themselves  with  flaying  me  alive,  roast 
ing  me  at  a  slow  fire,  or  some  other 
politeness  of  that  sort.  Much  good 
may  it  do  them." 

"  Suppose  they  spared  your  life, 
would  you  not  reveal  where  your 
father,  brother,  and  that  excellent  Fray 
Ambrosio  are  1" 

"  1  would  not.  Look  you,  I  am  a 
bandit,  I  allow  it,  but,  Nina,  I  am  neith 
er  a  traitor  nor  an  informer.  Regulate 
your  conduct  by  that,  and  if  you  are 
curious  to  see  a  man  die  well,  1  invite 
you  to  be  present  at  my  punishment." 

"  Well  ?"  Unicorn  asked  the  girl. 

"He  will  not  speak,"  she  replied; 
"although  he  displays  great  resolution, 
perhaps  the  torture  you  will  make  him 
undergo  may  overcome  his  courage,  and 
he  consent  to  speak." 

"  Hum  !"  the  chief  went  on,  "  my 
sister's  advice  is " 

"  My  advice,"  she  quickly  interrupt 
ed,  "  is  to  be  as  pitiless  to  him  as  he  has 
been  to  others.'' 

"  Good  !" 

The  chief  pointed  to  the  American. 

"  Take  him  away,"  he  said,  "  and  let 
all  the  preparations  be  made  for  tor 
ture." 

"Thanks,"  Nathan  replied;  "at  any 
rate  you  will  not  make  me  languish, 
that  is  a  consolation." 

"  Wait  before  you  rejoice,  till  you 
have  undergone  the  first  trial,"  White 
Gazelle  said  ironically. 

Nathan  made  no  answer,  but  went 
away  whistling  with  two  warriors. 

They  fastened  him  securely  to  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  and  left  him  alone,  af 
ter  assuring  themselves  that  he  could 
not  move,  and  consequently  flight  was 
impossible. 

i  The  young  man  watched  them  go  off, 
and  then  fell  on  the  ground,  carelessly 
muttering — 

"  The  disguise  was  good  for  all  that ; 
had  it  not  been  for  that  she-devil,  I 
must  have  escaped." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    ESCAPE. 

RED  CEDAR  had  seen  his  son  tied  up, 
from  the  tree  where  he  was  concealed. 
This  sight  suddenly  stopped  him  ;  he 
found  himself  just  over  the  Comanche 
camp,  in  a  most  perilous  situation,  as 
the  slightest  false  movement,  by  re 
vealing  his  presence,  would  be  sufficient 
to  destroy  him. 

Sutter  and  Fray  Ambrosio  in  turn 
parted  the  branches  and  looked  down 
at  Nathan,  who  certainly  was  far  from 
suspecting  tliat  the  persons  he  had  left 
on  the  previous  day  were  so  near  him. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  shadows  gradu 
ally  invaded  the  clearing,  and  soon  all 
objects  were  confoirtided  in  the  gloom, 
which  was  rendered  denser  by  the  gleam 
of  the  fires  lighted  from  distance  to  dis 
tance,  and  which  shed  an  uncertain  light 
around. 

The  squatter  did  not  love  his  son  ; 
for  he  was  incapable  of  feeling  affection 
for  more  than  one  person,  and  it  was 
concentrated  on  Ellen. 

Nathan's  life  or  death,  regarded  in 
the  light  of  paternal  love,  was  of  very 
slight  consequence  to  him  ;  but  in  the 
situation  where  his  unlucky  star  placed 
him,  he  regretted  his  son,  as  one  re 
grets  a  jolly  comrade,  a  bold  man  and 
clever  marksman  —  an  individual,  in 
short,  who  can  be  relied  on  in  a  tight. 

We  need  not  here  describe  Red  Ce 
dar's  resolute  character,  for  the  reader 
is  acquainted  with  it.  Under  these 
circumstances,  a  strange  idea  crossed 

• 

his  brain ;  and  as,  whenever  he  had 
formed  a  resolution,  nothing  could  stop 
it,  and  he  would  beard  all  clangers  iu 
carrying  it  out,  Red  Cedar  had  resolved 
on  delivering  his  son,  not,  we  repeat 
through  any  paternal  love,  but  to  have 
a  good  rifle  more,  in  the  very  probable 
event  that  he  should  have  to  fight. 

But  it  was  not  an  easy  mutter  to  libe 
rate  Nathan. 

The  young  man  was  far  from  suspect 
ing  that  at  the  moment  he  was  a\vaitin« 
worse  than  death,  his  father  was  only  a 
few  paces  from  him,  preparing  every 
thing  for  his  flight. 

This  ignorance  might  compromise  the 


140 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


success  of  the  daring  stroke  the  squatter 
intended  to  attempt. 

The  latter,  before  undertaking  any 
thing,  called  his  two  companions  to  him 
and  imparted  his  plan  to  them.  Sutler, 
adventurous  and  rash  as  his  father,  ap 
plauded  the  resolve. 

He  only  saw  in  the  bold  enterprise  a 
trick  to  be  played  on  his  enemies,  the 
red-skins,  and  rejoiced,  not  at  carrying 
off  his  brother  from  among  them,  but 
at  the  faces  they  would  cut  when  they 
came  to  fetch  their  prisoner  to  fasten 
him  to  the  stake  and  no  longer  found 
him.  ' 

Fray  Ambrosio  regarded  the  ques 
tion  from  a  diametrically  opposite  point 
of  view  :  their  position,  he  said,  was  al 
ready  critical  enough,  and  they  ought 
not  to  render  it  moTe  perilous  by  trying 
to  save  a  man  whom  they  could  not 
succeed  in  enabling  to  escape,  and  which 
would  hopelessly  ruin  them  by  inform 
ing  the  red-skins  of  their  presence. 

The  discussion  between  the  three  ad 
venturers  was  long  and  animated,  for 
each  obstinately  held  to  his  opinion. 

They  could  not  come  to  an  agree 
ment;  seeing  which,  Red  Cedar  peremp 
torily  cut  short  all  remarks  by  declar 
ing  that  he  was  resolved  to  save  his  son, 
and  would  do  so,  even  if  all  the  Indians 
of  the  Far  West  tried  to  oppose  it.. 

Before  a  resolution  so  clearly  inti 
mated,  the  others  could  only  be  silent 
and  bow  their  heads,  which  the  mouk 
did. 

The  trapper  then  prepared  to  carry 
out  his  design. 

By  this  time,  the  shades  of  night  had 
enveloped  the  prairie  in  a  black  wind 
ing-sheet  ;  the  moon,  which  was  in  her 
last  quarter,  would  not  appear  before 
two  in  the  morning ;  it  was  now  about 
eight  in  the  evening,  and  lied  Cedar 
had  six  hours'  respite  before  him,  by 
which  he  intended  to  profit. 

Under  circumstances  so  critical  as  the 
adventurers  were  now  placed,  time  is 
measured  with  the  parsimony  of  the 
miser  parting  with  his  treasure,  for  five 
minutes  wasted  may  ruin  everything. 

The  night  became,  more  and  more 
gloomy  ;  heavy  black  clouds,  charged 
with  electricity,  dashed  against  each 
other  and  intercepted  the  light  of  the 


stars  ;  the  evening  breeze  had  risen  at 
sunset,  and  w-hislled  mournfully  through 
the  branches  of  the  primeval  forest. 

With  the  exception  of  the  sentries 
placed  round  the  camp,  the  Indians 
were  lying  round  the  decaying  fires, 
and,  wrapped  in  their  buffalo  robes, 
were  soundly  asleep.  Nathan,  securely 
tied,  slept  or  feigned  to  sleep. 

Two  warriors,  lying  not  far  from  him, 
and  ordered  to  watch  him,  seeing  their 
prisoner  apparently  so  resigned  to  his 
tate,  at  length  yielded  to  slumber. 

Suddenly,  a  slight  hiss,  like  that  of 
the  whip-snake,  was  audible  from  the 
top  uf  the  tree  to  which  the  young  man 
was  fastened. 

He  opened  his  eyes  with  a  start,  and 
looked  searchingly  round  him,  though 
not  making  the  slightest  movement,  for 
fear  of  arousing  his  guardians. 

A  second  hiss,  more  lengthened  than 
the  fir.->t,  was  heard,  immediately  fol 
lowed  by  a  third. 

Nathan  raised  his  head  cautiously, 
and  looked  up ;  but  the  night  was  so 
dark  that  he  could  distinguish  nothing. 
At  this  moment,  some  object,  whose 
shape  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
guess,  touched  his  forehead  and  struck 
it  several  times,  as  it  oscillated.  This 
object  gradually  descended,  and  aC 
length  fell  on  the  young  man's  knees. 

He  stoopedvdowu  and  examined  it. 

It  was  a  knife  ! 

Nathan  with  difficulty  repressed  a 
shout  of  joy. 

Pie  was  not  entirely  abandoned,  then  ! 

Unknown  friends  took  an  interest  in 
his  fate,  and  were  trying  to  give  him 
the  means  of  escape. 

Hope  returned  to  his  heart ;  and  like 
a  boxer,  stunned  for  a  moment  by  the 
blow  he  had  received,  he  collected  all 
his  strength  to  recommence  the  con 
test. 

However  intrepid  a  man  may  be,  al 
though  if  conquered  by  an  impossibility 
he  has  bravely  sacrificed  his  life,  still, 
if  at  the  moment  of  marching  to  the 
place  of  punishment  a  gleam  of  hope 
seems  to  dazzle  his  astonished  eyes,  he 
suddenly  draws  himself  up — the  image 
of  death  is  effaced  from  his  mind,  and 
he  lights  desperately  to  regain  that  life 
which  he  had  so  valiantly  surrendered. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


141 


This  is  what  happened  to  Nathan  ; 
he  gradually  sat  up,  with  his  eyes  eag 
erly  fixed  on  his  still  motionless  guards. 

My  readers  must  pardon  the  follow 
ing  trifling  detail,  but  it  is  too  true  to 
be  passed  over. 

When  the  first  hiss  was  heard,  the 
young  man  was  snoring,  though  wide 
awake  ;  he  now  continued  the  monoton 
ous  melody  which  fulled  his  keepers  to 
sleep.  There  was  something  most 
striking  in  the  appearance  of  this  man, 
who,  with  eyes  widely  open,  frowning 
brow,  features  painfully  contracted  by 
hope  and  fear,  was  cutting  through  the 
cords  that  fastened  his  elbows  to  the 
tree,  while  snoring  as  quietly  as  if  he 
were  enjoying  the  quietest  sleep. 

After  considerable  efforts,  Nathan 
managed  to  cut  through  the  ligatures  ; 
the  rest  was  nothing,  us  his  hands  were 
at  liberty.  In  a  few  seconds  he  was 
completely  freed  from  his  bonds,  and 
seized  the  knife,  which  he  thrust  into  his 
girdle.  The  cord  that  let  it  down  was 
then  drawn  up  again. 

Nathan  waited  in  a  state  of  indescri 
bable  agony. 

He  had  returned  to  his  old  position, 
and  was  snoring.  All  at  once  one  of 
his  guardians  turned  towards  him,  mov 
ed  his  limbs,  stiffened  with  cold,  rose 
and  bent  over  him  with  a  yawn. 

Nathan,  with  half- closed  eyes,  care 
fully  watched  his  movements. 

When  he  saw  the  redskin's  face  only 
two  inches  from  his  own,  with  a  gesture 
swift  as  thought,  he  threw  his  hands 
round  his  neck,  and  that  so  suddenly 
that  the  Conianche,  taken  unawares,  had 
not  the  time  to  utter  a  cry. 

The  American  was  endowed  with 
Herculean  strength,  which  the  hope  of 
deliverance  doubled  at  tfhis  moment. 
He  squeezed  the  warrior's  neck  as  in  a 
vice ;  and  the  latter  struggled  in  vain 
to  free  himself  from  this  deadly  pres 
sure.  The  bandit's  iron  hands  drew 
tighter  and  tighter  with  a  slow,  delibe 
rate,  but  irresistible  pressure. 

The  Indian,  his  eyes  suffused  with 
blood,  his  features  horribly  contracted, 
beat  the  air  two  or  three  times  mechan 
ically,  made  one  convulsive  effort,  and 
then  remained  motionless. 

He  was  dead. 


Nathan  held  him  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  to  be  quite  certain  that  all  was 
over,  and  then  laid  the  warrior  by  his 
side,  in  a  position  that  admirably  re 
sembled  sleep.  He  then  passed  his 
hand  over  his  forehead  to  wipe  away  the 
icy  perspiration,  and  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  tree,  but  nothing  appeared  there. 

A  frightful  thought  then  occupied  the 
young  man ;  suppose  his  friends,  des 
pairing  of  saving  him,  had  abandoned  : 
him  ?  a  horrible  agony  contracted  his 
chest. 

Still,  he  had  recognized  his  father's 
signal :  the  hiss  of  the  whip-snake  had 
been  long  employed  by  them  to  com 
municate  under  perilous  circumstances. 
His  father  was  not  the  man  to  leave 
any  work  he  had  begun  undone,  what 
ever  the  consequences  might  be.  And 
yet  the  moments  slipped  away  one 
after  the  other,  and  nothing  told  the 
wretch  that  men  were  at  work  fur  his 
deliverance  ;  all  was  calm  and  gloomy. 

Nearly  half-an-hour  passed  thus.  Nar 
than  was  a  prey  to  feverish  impjw 
tience  and  a  terror  impossible  to  des 
cribe.  Up  to  the  present,  it  was  true, 
no  one  in  camp  had  perceived  the  un 
usual  movement  he  had  been  obliged 
to  make,  but  an  unlucky  chance  might 
reveal  his  plans  for  flight  at  any  mo 
ment  ;  to  effect  this,  an  Indian  aruused 
by  the  sharp  cold  need  only  pass  by 
him  while  trying  to  restore  the  circula 
tion  of  his  blood  by  a  walk. 

As  his  friends  forgot  him,  the  young 
man  resolved  to  get  out  of  the  affair 
by  himself.  In  the  first  place,  he  must 
get  rid  of  his  second  watcher,  and  then 
he  would  settle  what  next  to  do. 

Hence,  still  remaining  on  the  ground, 
he  slowly  crawled   toward   the  second 
warrior.     He  approached  him  inch  by  [ 
inch,  so  insensible  and  deliberate  were 
his  movements !  At  length  he  arrived  j 
scarce    two    paces    from    the    warrior, 
whose  tranquil  sleep  told  him  that  he  t 
could  act  without  fear. 

Nathan  drew  himself  up,  and  bound 
ing  like  a  jaguar,  placed  his  knee  on  the 
Indian's  chest,  while  with  his  left  hand 
he  powerfully  clutched  his  throat. 

The  Conianche,  suddenly  awakened, 
made  a  hurried  movement  to  free  him 
self  from  this  fatal  pressure,  and  open- 


142 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


ed  his  eyes  wildly,  as  he  looked  round 
in  terror. 

Nathan,  without  uttering  a  word, 
drew  his  knife  and  buried  it  in  the  In 
dian's  heart,  while  still  holding  him  by 
the  throat. 

The  warrior  fell  back  as  if  struck  by 
lightning,  and  expired  without  uttering 
a  cry  or  giving  a  sigh. 

"  I  don't  care,"  the  bandit  muttered, 
as  he  wiped  the  knife,  "  it  is  a  famous 
weapon.  Now,  whatever  may  happen, 
I  feel  sure  of  not  dying  unavenged." 

Nathan,  when  he  found  his  disguise 
useless,  had  asked  leave  to  put  on  his 
old  clothes,  which  was  granted.  By  a 
singular  chance,  the  Indian  he  stabbed 
had  secured  his  game  bag  and  rifle, 
•which  the  young  man  at  once  took  back. 
He  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  at  finding 
himself  again  in  possession  of  objects 
so  valuable  to  him,  and  clothed  once 
more  in  his  woodranger's  garb. 

Time  pressed  ;  he  must  be  off  at  all 
risks,  try  to  foil  the  sentries,  and  quit 
the  camp.  What  had  he  to  fear  in 
being  killed?  if  he  remained,  he  knew 
perfectly  well  the  fate  that  awaited 
him  ;  hence  the  alternative  was  not 
doubtful  ;  it  was  a  thousandfold  better 
to  stake  his  life  bravely  in  a  final  con 
test,  than  wait  for  the  hour  of  punish 
ment. 

Nathan  looked  ferociously  around, 
bent  forward,  listened,  and  silently 
cocked  his  rifle. 

The  deepest  calm  continued  to  pre 
vail  around. 

"  Come,"  the  young  man  said,  "  there 
can  be  no  hesitation ;  I  must  be  off." 

At  this  moment  the  hiss  of  the  whip- 
snake  was  again  audible. 

Nathan  started. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  he  said,  "  it  seems  that 
I  arn  not  abandoned  as  I  fancied." 

He  lay  down  on  the  ground  again  and 
crawled  back  to  the  tree  to  which  he 
had  been  fastened.  A  lasso  hung  down 
to  the  ground,  terminating  in  one  of 
those  double  knots  which  sailors  call 
"  chairs,"  one  half  of  which  passes 
under  the  thighs,  while  the  other  sup 
ports  the  chest. 

"  By  jingo !''  Nathan  muttered  joy 
fully,  "  only  the  old  man  can  have  such 
ideas.  What  a  famous  trick  we  are 


going  to  play  those  dogs  of  redskins! 
They  will  really  believe  rne  a  sorcerer; 
for  I  defy  them  to  find  my  trail." 

While  talking  thus  to  himself,  the 
American  had  seated  himself  in  the 
chair. 

The  lasso  drawn  by  a  vigorous  hand, 
rapidly  ascended,  and  Nathan  soon  dis 
appeared  among  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
tree. 

When  he  reached  the  first  branches, 
which  were  about  thirty  feet  from  the 
ground,  the  young  man  removed  the 
lasso,  and  in  a  few  seconds  rejoined  his 
comrades. 

"  Ouf !"  he  muttered,  as  he  drew  two 
or  three  deep  breaths,  while  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  face  ;  "  1  can  now 
say  I  have  had  a  lucky  escape,  thanks 
to  you  ;  for,  deuce  take  me,  without 
you,  I  had  been  dead." 

"  Enough  of  compliments,"  the 
squatter  sharply  answered  ;  "  we  have 
no  time  to  waste  in  that  nonsense.  I 
suppose  you  are  anxious  to  be  off'?" 

"  I  should  think  so  ;  in  which  direc 
tion  are  we  going  ?" 

"  Over  there,"  Red  Cedar  answered, 
holding  his  arm  out  in  the  direction  of 
the  camp. 

"  The  devil !"  Nathan  sha.-ply  ob 
jected,  "  are  you  mad,  or  did  you  pre 
tend  to  save  my  life,  merely  to  deliver 
me  to  our  enemies  with  your  own 
hands  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Something  you  would  see  as  well 
as  I,  if  it  were  day;  the  forest  sudden 
ly  terminates  a  few  yards  from  here  on 
the  edge  of  an  immense  quebrada." 

"  Oh,"  Red  Cedar  said,  with  a  frown; 
"  what  is  to  be  done  in  that  case  ?" 

"  Return  by  the  road  you  came  for 
about  half  a  league,  and  then  go  to  the 
left.  I  have  seen  enough  of  the  coun 
try  since  I  left  you  to  have  a  confused 
resemblance  of  the  shape  of  the  moun 
tain,  but,  as  you  say,  the  main  point  at 
this  moment  is  to  be  off  from  here  ?" 

"  The  more  so,  as  the  moon  will 
soon  rise,"  Sutler  observed,  "  and  if 
the  redskins  perceived  Nathan's  escape, 
they  would  soon  find  our  trail." 

"Well  said,"  Nathan  replied,  "let 
us  be  off." 

Red  Cedar  placed  himself  once  more 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


143 


at  the  head  of  the  small  party,  ard  they 
turned  back. 

Progress  was  extremely  difficult  in 
this  black  night  ;  they  were  obliged  to 
grope,  and  not  put  down  their  foot  till 
they  were  certain  the  support  was  solid. 
If  they  did  not,  they  ran  a  risk  of  fall 
ing  and  being  dashed  on  the  ground,  at 
a  depth  of  seventy  or  eighty  feet. 

They  had  scarcely  gone  three  hun 
dred  yards  in  this  way,  when  a  frightful 
clamor  was  heard  behind  them :  a 
great  light  illumined  the  forest,  and  be 
tween  the  leaves  the  fugitives  perceiv 
ed  the  black  outlines  of  the  Indians 
running  in  every  direction,  gesticulat- 
iiiof  and  yelling  ferociously. 

"  Hilloh,"  Red  Cedar  said,  "  I  fancy 
the  Comanches  have  found  out  your 
desertion." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  Nathan  replied, 
with  a  grin  ;  "  poor  fellows  !  they  are 
inconsolable  at  my  loss." 

"  The  more  so,  because  you  prob 
ably  did  not  quit  them  without  leaving 
your  card." 

"  Quite  true,  father,"  the  other  said, 
as  he  raised  his  hunting-shirt  and  dis 
played  two  bloody  scalps  suspended  to 
his  girdle ;  "  1  did  not  neglect  busi 
ness." 

The  wretch,  before  fastening  the  lasso 
round  him,  had,  with  horrible  coolness, 
scalped  his  two  victims. 

"  In  that  case,"  Fray  Ambrosio  said, 
"  they  must  be  furious  ;  you  know  that 
the  Comanches  never  forgive.  How 
could  you  commit  so  unworthy  an 
action  ?" 

"  Trouble  yourself  about  your  own 
affairs,  Senor  Padre,"  Nathan  said, 
brutally,  "and  let  me  act  as  I  think 
proper,  unless  you  wish  me  to  send  you 
to  take  my  place  with  the  butt  end  of 
my  rifle." 

The  monk  bit  his  lips. 

"  Brute  beast!"  he  muttered. 

"  Come,  peace,  in  the  devil's  name  !" 
Red  Cedar  said ;  "  let  us  think  about 
not  being  caught." 

"  Yes,"  Sutler  supported  him,  "  when 
you  are  in  safety,  you  can  have  an  ex 
planation  with  knives,  like  true  cabal- 
leros.  But,  at  this  moment,  we  have 
other  things  to  do  than  quarrel  like  old 
women." 


The  two  men  exchanged  a  glance  full 
of  hatred,  but  remained  silent. 

The  .little  party,  guided  by  Red 
Cedar,  gradually  retired,  pursued  by  the 
yells  of  the  Comanches,  who  constantly 
drew  nearer. 

"  Can  they  have  discovered  our 
track "?"  Red  Cedar  said,  shaking  his 
head  sadly. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PLOT     AND     COUNTERPLOT. 

WE  will  now  return  to  Valentine  and 
his  friends,  whom  we  left  preparing  to 
pursue  Red  Cedar  once  more. 

Valentine,  had  began  to  take  a  real 
interest  in  this  protracted  man-hunt ;  it 
was  the  first  time  since  he  had  been  ia 
the  desert  that  he  had  to  deal  with  a 
foeman  so  worthy  of  his  steel  as  was 
Red  Cedar. 

Like  him,  the  squatter  possessed  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  life  in  the  Far 
West — all  the  sounds  of  the  prairie 
were  known  to  him,  all  tracks  familiar  ; 
like  him,  he  had  made  Indian  trickery 
and  cunning  his  special  study ;  in  a 
word,  Valentine  had  found  his  equal,  if 
not  his  master.  His  powerfully  excited 
self  love  urged  him  to  bring  this  game 
of  chess  to  a  conclusion;  hence  he  was 
resolved  to  press  matters  so  vigorously 
that,  in  spite  of  his  cleverness,  Red 
Cedar  must  soon  fall  into  his  hands. 

After  leaving,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
upper  regions  of  the  sierra,  the  hunters 
advanced  in  the  shape  of  a  fan,  in  order 
to  find  some  sign  which  would  enable 
them  to  find  the  long-lost  trail,  for,  ac 
cording  to  the  axiom  well  known  to  the 
wood-rangers,  any  rastreador,  who  holds 
one  end  of  a  trail,  must  infallibly  reach 
the  other  within  a  given  time. 

Unfortunately,  no  trace  or  sign  was 
visible ;  Red  Cedar  had  disappeared, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  find  the  slight 
est  trace  of  the  way  he  had  gone. 

Still,  Valentine  did  not  give  in  ;  he 
studied  the  ground,  examined  every 
blade  of  grass,  and  cross-questioned  the 
shrubs  with  a  patience  nothing  could 
weary. 

His   friends,   less    accustomed   than 


144 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


himself  to  the  frequent  disappointments 
in  a  hunter's  life,  in  vain  gave  him  de 
spairing  glances ;  he  walked  on,  with 
his  head  bent  down,  neither  seeing  their 
signals  nor  hearing  their  remarks. 

At  length,  about  mid-day,  after  going 
nearly  four  leagues  in  this  fashion — a 
most  wearying  task — the  hunters  found 
themselves  on  a  perfectly  naked  rock. 
At  this  spot  it  would  have  been  mad 
ness  to  look  for  foot-prints,  as  the  gran- 
iite  would  not  take  them. 

Don  Miguel  and  his  son  fell  to  the 
ground,  more  through  despondency  than 
fatigue. 

Curumilla  began  collecting  the  scat 
tered  leaves  to  light  the  breakfast-fire, 
while  Valentine,  leaning  on  his  rifle, 
with  his  forehead  furrowed  by  deep 
wrinkles,  looked  scrutinizingly  round. 

At  the  spot  where  the  hunters  had 
established  their  temporary  bivouac,  no 
vegetation  grew  on  the  barren  rocks  ; 
while  an  immense  larch  tree  over 
shadowed  it  with  its  well-covered  bran 
ches. 

The  hunter  incessantly  turned  his  in 
telligent  eye  from  earth  to  sky,  as  if  he 
had  a  foreboding  that  at  this  spot  he  must 
find  the  trail  he  had  so  long  been  seek 
ing.  All  at  once  he  uttered  a  sonorous 
'•  hum !" 

At  this  sound,  a  signal  agreed  on  be 
tween  the  Indian  and  him,  Curumilla  left 
off  collecting  the  leaves,  raised  his  head, 
and  looked  at  him. 

Valentine  walked  towards  him  with 
a  hasty  step. 

The  two  Mexicans  eagerly  rose  and 
joined  him. 

"  Have  you  discovered  anything  ?" 
Don  Miguel  asked,  curiously. 

"  No,"  Valentine  replied,  "  but  in  all 
probability  I  soon  shall." 

"  Here  ?" 

"  Yes,  at  this  very  spot,"  he  said, 
with  a  knowing  smile;  "believe  me, 
you  shall  soon  see." 

While  saying  this,  the  hunter  stoop 
ed,  picked  up  a  handful  of  leaves,  and 
began  examining  them  attentively,  one 
by  one. 

*"  What  can  those  leaves  teach  you  ?' 
Don  Miguel  asked  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

"  Everything,"  Valentine    firmly  re 


plied,  as  he  continued  his  examination. 

Curumilla  was  surveying  the  ground, 
and  questioning  the  rock. 

"  Wah  !"  he  said. 

All  stopped  ;  the  chief  pointed  to  a 
line  about  half  an  inch,  of  the  thickness 
of  a  hair,  recently  made  on  the  rock. 

"  They  have  passed  this  way,"  Va 
lentine  went  on,  "  that  is  as  certain  to 
me  as  that  two  and  two  make  four  ; 
everything  proves  it  to  me  ;  the  steps 
we  discovered  going  away  from  the  spot 
where  we  now  are — are  a  sure  proof." 

"  How  so1?"  Don  Miguel  asked  in 
amazement. 

"  Nothing  is  more  simple  ;  the  traces 
that  deceived  you  could  not  humbug  an 
old  woodranger  like  myself;  they  press 
ed  too  heavily  on  the  heel,  and  were  not 
regular,  proves  them  false  ?" 

"  Why  false?" 

"  Of  course.  This  is  what  Red  Ce 
dar  did  to  hide  the  direction  he  took  ; 
he  walked  for  nearly  two  leagues  back 
wards  ?" 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Red  Cedar,  though 
aged,  is  still  possessed  of  all  the  vigour 
of  youth  ;  his  steps  is  firm  and  per 
fectly  regular  ;  like  all  men  accustomed 
to  forest  life,  he  walks  cautiously,  that 
is  to  say,  first  putting  down  the  point 
of  his  foot,  like  every  man  who  is  not 
certain  that  he  may  not  have  to  go  back. 
In  the  footsteps  we  saw,  as  I  told  you, 
the  heel  was  put  down  first,  and  is  much 
deeper  buried  than  the  rest  of  the  foot ; 
that  is  quite  impossible,  unless  a  person 
has  walked  backwards,  especially  for 
some  time." 

"  That  is  true,"  Don  Miguel  answer 
ed  ;  "  what  you  say  could  not  be  more 
logical." 

Valentine  smiled. 

"  We  have  not  got  to  the  end  yet,' 
he  said  ;  "  let  me  go  on.'; 

"  But,"  Don  Pablo  remarked,  "  sup 
posing  that  Red  Cedar  did  come  her< 
which  I  now  believe  as  fully  as  you  d( 
how  is  it  that  we  do  not  find  his  trace 
en  the  other  side  of  the  rock  ?  How 
ever  carefully  he  may  have  hidder 
them,  we  should  discover  them,  if  thej 
existed." 

"Of  course;  but  they  are  not  here, 
and  it  is  useless  to  lose  time  in  looking 


145 


for  them.  Red  Cedar  has  come  here, 
as  this  mark  proves  ;  but  you  will  ask 
me  why  he  did  so  ?  for  a  reason  very 
easy  to  comprehend  ;  on  this  granite 
soil,  footsteps  are  effaced;  the  squatter 
wished  to  throw  us  out  by  bringing  us 
to  a  spot  where  we  must  completely 
lose  his  direction,  if  we  succeeded  in 
finding  his  track.  He  succeeded  up  to 
a  certain  point ;  but  he  wished  to  be 
too  clever,  and  went  beyond  his  object ; 
before  ten  minutes,  I  will  show  you 
the  trail  as  clear  as  if  we  had  been 
present  when  he  went  off." 

'•  I  confess,  my  friend,  that  all  you 
say  greatly  astonishes  me,"  Don  Mi 
guel  replied.  "  I  never  could  under 
stand  this  species  of  sublime  instinct 
which  helps  you  to  find  your  way  in 
the  desert,  although  you  have  already 
given  me  the  most,  astonishing  proofs; 
still,  I  confess  that  what  is  taking  place 
at  this  moment  surpasses  everything  i 
have  hitherto  seen  you  do." 

"  Good  gracious  !"  Valentine  answer 
ed  ;  "  you  pay  me  compliments  1  am 
far  from  deserving  ;  all  this  is  an  affair 
of  reasoning,  and  especially  of  habit. 
Thus,  it  is  as  plain  to  you  as  it  is  to 
me,  that  Red  Cedar  came  here  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  good  ;  as  he  came,  he  must 
have  gone  away  again,"  the  hunter  said 
with  a  laugh  ;  "  for  the  reason  that  he 
is  no  longer  here,  or  we  should  have 
him." 

"  That  is  certain." 

"  Good  ;  now  look  how  he  can  have 
gone." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  do  not  see." 

"  Because  you  are  blind,  or   because 
you  will  not  take  the  trouble." 
/     "  Oh,  my  friend,  I  swear " 

"Pardon,!  am  in  error :  it  is  be 
cause  you  cannot  explain  what  you 
see." 

"  What  ?"  Don  Miguel  said,  slightly 
piqued  by  this  remark. 

"  Certainly,"  Valentine  went  on 
phlegmatically  ;  "  and  you  shall  con 
fess  I  am  in  the  right." 

"  1  shall  be  delighted  to  do  so." 

In  spite  of  his  good  sense,  and  the 
other  great  qualities  with  which  he  was 
gifted,  Valentine  had  the  weakness, 
common  to  many  men,  of  liking,  under 


certain  circumstances,  to  make  a  parade 
of  his  knowledge  of  desert  life.  This 
defect,  which  is  very  frequently  found 
on  the  prairies,  in  no  way  injured  his 
character,  and  was  pardonable  after  all. 

"  You  shall  see,"  he  said  with  that 
sort  of  condescension  which  persons 
who  know  a  thing  thoroughly,  as 
sume  on  explaining  it  to  the  ignorant  : 
"  Red  Cedar  has  been  here  and  has  dis 
appeared  :  I  arrive  and  look  :  he  can 
not  have  flown  away,  or  buried  himself 
in  the  ground  :  hence  he  must  absolute 
ly  have  gone  by  some  road  a  man  can 
use  ;  look  at  these  leaves  scattered  over 
he  rock,  they  are  sign  No.  1." 

"How  so?" 

"Hang  it!  that, is  clear  enough,  we 
are  not  at  the  season  when  trees  lose 
their  leaves  :  hence  they  did  not  fall." 

"  Why  so?" 

"  Because,  if  they  had,  they  would 
be  yellow  and  dry,  and  instead  they  are 
green,  crumpled,  and  some  are  even 
torn  ;  hence  it  is  positive,  I  think,  that 
they  have  been  removed  from  the  tree 
by  violence." 

"  That  is  true,"  Don  Miguel  mutter 
ed,  his  surprise  at  its  height. 

"  Now,  let  us  seek  what  unknown 
force  tore  them  from  the  tree." 

While  saying  this,  Valentine  had  be 
gun  walking  on,  with  his  body  bent  to 
the  ground,  in  the  direction  where  he 
had  seen  the  black  line. 

His  friends  imitated  his  movements 
and  followed  him,  also  looking  care 
fully  on  the  ground. 

All  at  once  Valentine  stooped,  pick 
ed  up  a  piece  of  bark  about  the-size  of 
half  his  hand,  and  showed  it  to  Don 
Miguel. 

"  All  is  explained  to  me  now,"  he 
said  :  "  look  at  that  piece  of  bark  :  it  is 
pressed  and  broken  as  if  a  rope  had 
been  round  it,  1  think]'' 

"It  is." 

"  Well,  do  you  not  understand  V 

"  On  my  word,  no  more  than  I  did 
just  now." 

Valentine  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Listen  to  me  then,"  he  said ;  "  Red 
Cedar  came  thus  far :  with  his  lasso  he 
caught  the  end  of  that  heavy  branch 
just  above  our  heads ;  and  with  the 
help  of  his  companions,  pulled  it  down 


146 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


to  the  ground.  The  black  mark  we 
saw  proves  what  an  effort  they  'made. 
Once  the  bough  was  bent,  the  squatter's 
comrades  mounted  on  it  one  alter  the 
other  :  lied  Cedar,  the  last,  went  up 
with  it,  and  all  found  themselves  some 
seventy  feet  above  ground.  You  must 
allow  this  is  all  very  ingenious  ;  but, 
unluckily,  the  squatter's  boots  left  on 
this  rock  a  graze  about  the  width  of  a 
hair,  and  leaves  fell  from  the  tree  ;  on 
unfastening  his  lasso,,  a  piece  of  bark 
broke  oil',  and  as  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and 
could  not  come  down  again  to  remove 
all  these  ruinous  proofs,  I  have  seen 
them,  and  now  1  know  as  well  all  that 
happened  here,  as  if  I  had  been  pre 
sent." 

The  hunters  did  not  merely  display 
surprise  at  this  clear  and  lucid  explana 
tion,  but  seemed  struck  speechless  by 
such  an  incredible  proof  of  sagacity. 

44  It  is  miraculous,"  Don  Miguel  at 
length  exclaimed  ;  "  then  you  believe 
Red  Cedar  went  otF  by  that  tree'?" 

"I  would  bet  anything  on  it.  How 
ever,  you  shall  soon  be  convinced  of  it, 
for  we  -shall  follow  the  same  road." 
"  But  we  cannot  go  far  on  that  way." 
"  You  are  mistaken.  -In  the  virgin 
forests  like  the  one  that  stretches  out 
before  us,  the  road  we  are  about  to  tol- 
low  is  often  the  only  one  practicable. 
And  now  that  we  have  found  the  ban 
dits'  trail,  not  to  lose  it  again,  I  hope, 
let  us  breakfast  quickly,  so  as  to  start 
the  sooner  in  pursuit." 

The  hunters  sat  down  gaily  round 
the  fire,  and  ate  some  grizzly  bear 
meat.  But  their  impatience  made 
them  take  double  mouthtuls,  so  that. the 
meal  was  over  in  a  twinkling,  and  they 
were  soon  ready  to  commence  their  re 
searches. 

Valentine,  in  order  to  prove  to  his 
friends  the  exactness  of  the  information 
he  had  given  them,  employed  the  same 
means  Ked  Cedar  had  done  to  mount 
the  tree,  and  when  the  hunters  had  as 
sembled  there,  they  allowed  the  truth 
of  Valentine's  statements  :  lied  Cedar's 
trail  was  plainly  visible. 

They  went  on  thus  for  a  long  time 
following  the  bandit's  trail;  but  the 
further  they  went,  the  less  distinct  it 


became,  and  it  was  soon  lost  for  the 
second  time. 

Valentine  stopped  and  collected  his 
friends. 

"  Let  us  hold  a  council,"  he  said. 

"I  think,"  Don  Miguel  observed, 
"  that  Red  Cedar  fancied  he  had  been 
long  enough  up  a  tree,  and  so  went  back 
to  the  ground." 

Valentine  shook  his  head. 

"  You  have  not  got  it,"  he  said. 
"  what  you  assert,  my  friend,  is  mate 
rially  impossible." 

"  Why  so?" 

"  Because  the  trail,  as  you  see,  sud 
denly  ceases  over  a  lake." 

"  That  is  true." 

"  Hum  !  it  is  plain  that  Red  C«dar 
did  not  swim  across  it.  Let  us  go  on 
at  all  hazards,  1  feel  certain  that  we 
shall  speedily  recover  the  trail ;  that 
direction  is  the  only  one  Red  Cedar 
could  have  followed.  His  object  is  lo 
cross  the  line  of  foes  who  surround  him 
on  all  sides;  if  he  buried  himself  in  the 
mountains,  we  know  by  experience,  and 
he  knows  as  well  as  we  do,  he  would 
infallibly  perish;  hence  he  can  only  es 
cape  in  this  way,  and  we  must  pursue 
him." 

"Still  remaining  on  the  trees'?"  Don 
Miguel  asked. 

"  By  Jove  !  do  not  forget,  my  friends, 
that  the  bandits  have  a  girl  with  them. 
The  poor  child  is  nut  accustomed  like 
them  to  these  fearful  desert  journeys  ; 
she  could  not  endure  them  for  an  hour 
if  her  father  and  brothers  were  not  care 
ful  to  lead  her  by  comparatively  easy 
roads.  Look  beneath  you,  and  you 
will  feel  convinced  that  it  is  impossible 
for  a  girl  to  have  passed  that  way. 
This  is  our  road,"  he  added  perempto 
rily,  "and  it  is  the  only  one  by  which 
we  shall  discover  our  enemy." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,"  the  Mexicans  ex 
claimed. 

Curumilla,  according  to  his  habit, 
said  nothing ;  he  had  not  even  stopped 
to  listen  to  the  discussion,  but  walked 
on. 

"  Wah  !"  he  suddenly  said. 

His  friends  eagerly  hurried  up.  The 
chief  held  in  his  hand  a  pieoe  of  striped 
calico,  no  larger  than  a  shilling. 


TIIE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


147 


"You  see,"  Valentine  said,  "we  are 
in  a  "ood  direction,  so  we  will  nut  laave 

O  *  • 

it." 

This  discovery  stopped  all  discussion. 

The  day  gradually  passed  away,  the 
red  globe  of  the  sun  appeared  in  the 
distance  between  the  stems  of  the  trees, 
and  after  inarching  two  hours  longer, 
the  darkness  was  complete. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  Don  Miguel 
asked  ;  "  we  cannot  spend  the  night 
perched  up  here,  like  parroquets.  Let 
us  choose  a  convenient  spot  to  camp; 
to-morrow,  at  daybreak,  we  will  ascend 
again  and  continue  the  chase." 

"Yes,"  Valentine  said,  with  a  laugh, 
"and  during  the  night,  while  we  are 
quietly  asleep  down  there,  if  any  inci 
dent  occurs  that  compels  Red  Cedar  to 
turn  back,  he  will  slip  through  our 
fingers  like  a  snake,  and  we  know  noth 
ing  about  it.  No,  no,  my  friend,  you 
must  make  up  your  mind  to  perch  here 
for  the  night  like  a  parroquet,  as  you 
say,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  lose  the  fruit 
of  all  your  trouble  and  fatigue." 

"  Oh,  oh,  if  it  is  so,"  Don  Miguel  ex 
claimed,  "  1  consent.  I  would  sooner 
sleep  a  week  in  a  tree  than  let  that  vil 
lain  escape." 

"Do  not  be  alarmed;  he  will  not 
keep  us  at  work  all  that  time  ;  the  boar 
is  at  bay,  and  will  soon  be  found. 
However  large  the  desert  may  be,  it 
possesses  no  unexplored  refuge  to  men 
who  are  accustomed  to  traverse  it  in 
every  direction.  ReJ  Cedar  has  done 
more  than  a  common  man  to  escape  us. 
Now  all  is  over  with  him,  and  he  under 
stands  that  it  is  only  a  question  of 
time." 

"May  Heaven  grant  it,  my  friend. 
1  would  give  my  life  to  avenge  myself 
on  that  monster." 

"  He  will  soon  be  in  your  power,  I 
assure  you." 

At  this  moment  Curumilla  laid  his 
hand  on  Valentine's  arm. 

"  Well,  chief,  what  is  it  ?"  the  latter 
asked. 

"  Listen  !" 

The  hunters  did  so. 

They  soon  heard,  at    a  considerable 
distance,  confused  cries,  which  momen 
tarily  become  more  distinct,  and   soon 
merged  into  a  fearful  clamor. 
9 


"  What  is  happening  now?"  Valentine 
asked,  thoughtfully. 

The  shouts  increased  fearfully,strange 
lights  illumined  the  forest,  whose  guests, 
disturbed  in  their  sleep,  flew  heavily 
here  and  there,  uttering  plaintive  cries. 

"  Attention  !"  the  hunter  said,  "  let 
us  try  and  discover  what  all  this  means." 

But  their  uncertainty  did  not  last 
long. 

Valentine  all  at  once  left  the  branch 
behind  which  he  was  concealed,  and  ut 
tered  a  long,  shrill  cry,  which  was  repli 
ed  to  with  fearful  yells. 

<;  What  is  it  ?"  .Don  Miguel  asked. 

"  Unicorn  !"  Valentine  answered. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

COUSIN   BRUIN. 

NATHAN'S  flight  was  discovered  by  a 
singular  accident. 

The  Comanches  are  no  more  accus 
tomed  than  other  Indians  to  have  grand 
rounds  and  night  patrols  during  the 
night,  which  are  inventions  of  civilized 
nations  quite  unknown  on  the  prairie. 
In  all  probability,  the  Indians  would  not 
have  perceived  their  prisoner's  disap 
pearance  till  daybreak. 

Nathan  fully  built  on  this.  He  was 
too  well  acquainted  with  Indian  habits 
not  to  know  what  he  had  to  depend  on 
in  this  respect. 

But  he  had  not  taken  hatred  into  cal 
culation,  that  vigilant  sentry  which  no 
thing  can  send  to  sleep. 

About  an  hour  after  Nathan's  success 
ful  ascent  White  Gazelle,  aroused  by 
the  cold,  and  more  probably  by  the 
desire  of  assuring  herself  that  the  priso 
ner  could  not  escape,  rose,  and  crossed 
the  camp  alone,  striding  over  the  sleep 
ing  warriors,  and  feeling  her  way  as 
well  as  she  could  in  the  dark  ;  for  most 
of  the  fires  had  gone  out,  and  those 
which  still  burned  spread  only  an  uncer 
tain  light.  Impelled  by  that  feeling, 
of  hatred  which  so  rarely  deceives  those 
who  feel  its  sharpened  sting,  she  at 
length  found  her  way  through  this  inex 
tricable  labyrinth,  and  reached  the  tree 
to  which  the  prisoner  had  been  fastened. 


118 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


The  tree  was  deserted. 

The  cords  which  had  bound  Nathan 
lay  cut  a  few  paces  off,  while  Gazelle 
was  stupified  for  a  moment  at  this  sight, 
which  she  was  so  far  from  expecting. 

"Oh!"  she  muttered  savagely,  "it 
is  a  family  of  demons  !  but  how  has 
he  escaped  ?  where  can  he  have  fled  ? 

"Those  villains  are  quietly  asleep," 
she  said,  seeing  the  warriors  reposing, 
"  while  the  man  they  were  ordered  to 
watch  is  laughing  at  them  far  away." 

She  spurned  them  with  her  foot. 

"  Accursed  dogs  !"  she  yelled, 
"  wake  up  !  the  prisoner  has  escaped  !" 

The  men  did  not  stir. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  she  said,  "  what  means 

this  r 

She  stooped  down  and  carefully  ex 
amined  them  :  all  was  revealed  to  her 
at  once. 

"  Dead  !"  she  said  ;  "  he  has  assas 
sinated  them.  What  diabolical  power 
must  this  race  of  reprobates  possess  !" 

After  a  moment  of  terror,  she  sprang 
up  furiously  and  rushed  through  the 
•camp,  shouting  in  a  shrill  voice  : 

"  Up,  up  !  warriors,  the  prisoner  has 
fled  !" 

All  were  on   their  feet  in  a  moment. 

Unicorn  was  one  of  the  first  to  seize 
his  weapons,  and  hurried  towards  her, 
asking  the  meaning  of  those  unusual 
sounds. 

In  a  few  words  White  Gazelle  in- 
•  formed  him,  and  Unicorn,  more  fu 
rious  than  herself,  aroused  his  warriors, 
and  sent  them  in  all  directions  in  pur 
suit  of  Nathan. 

But  we  know  that,  temporarily  at 
-least,  the  squatter's  son  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  this  vain  search. 

The  miraculous  flight  of  a  man  from 
,the  middle  of  a  camp  of  warriors,  un- 
perceived  by  the  sentries,  had  some 
thing  so  extraordinary  about  it,  that 
the  Comanches,  superstitious  as  all  In 
dians,  were  disposed  to  believe  in  the 
intervention  of  the  Genius  of  Evil. 

The  whole  camp  was  in  confusion: 
everv  one  ran  in  a  different  direction, 
brandishing  torches.  The  circle  widen 
ed  more  and  more.  The  warriors, 
carried  away  by  their  ardor,  left  the 
•cle.iring  and  entered  the  forest. 

All    at    once    a     shrill    cry    broke 


through  the  air,  and  everybody  stopped 
as  if  by  enchantment. 

"Oh,"  White  Gazelle  asked,  "what 
is  that  ?" 

"  Koutonepi,  my  brother,"  Unicorn 
replied  briefly,  as  he  repeated  the  signal. 

"  Let  us  run  to  meet  him,"  the 
girl  said. 

They  hurried  forward,  closely  fol 
lowed  by  a  dozen  warriors,  and  soon 
stood  under  the  tree  where  Valentine 
and  his  companions  were  standing. 

The  hunter  saw  them  coming,  and 
hence  called  to  them. 

"Where  are  you?"  Unicorn  asked. 

"  Up  this  gum  tree,"  Valentine 
shouted  ;  "  stop  and  look." 

The  Indians  looked  up. 

"  Wah  !"  Unicorn  said  with  astonish 
ment,  "  what  is  my  brother  doing 
there?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  but  first  help  me 
to  come  down  ;  we  are  not  comfortably 
situated  for  conversing,  especially  for 
what  I  have  to  tell  you,  chief." 

"  Good  ;  I  await  my  brother." 

Valentine  fastened  his  lasso  to  a 
branch  and  prepared  to  slide  down,  but 
Curumilla  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  want,  chief?" 

"  Is  my  brother  going  down  ?" 

"  You  see,"  Valentine  said,  pointing 
to  the  lasso. 

Curumilla  shook  his  head  with  an  air 
of  dissatisfaction. 

"  Red  Cedar  !"  he  said. 

"Ah,  Canarios  /"  the  hunter  exclaim 
ed,  as  he  struck  his  forehead,  "  I  did  not 
think  about  him.  Why,  I  must  be  go 
ing  mad.  By  Jove,  chief!  you  are  a 
precious  man,  nothing  escapes  your  no 
tice — wait." 

Valentine  stooped,  and  forming  his 
hands  into  a  speaking-trumpet,  shouted  : 

"  Chief,  come  up." 

"  Good." 

The  sachem  seized  the  lasso,  and  by 
the  strength  of  his  wrists  raised  himself 
to  the  branch,  where  Valentine  and 
Curumilla  received  him. 

"  Here  I  am,"  he  said. 

"  By  what  chance  are  you  hunting  in 
the  forest  at  this  time  of  night?"  the 
hunter  asked  him. 

Unicorn  told  him  in  a  few  words 
what  had  occurred. 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


149 


At  this  narration  Valentine  frowned 
and  in  his  turn  informed  the  chief  of 
what  he  had  done. 

"  It  is  senous,"  Unicorn  said,  with  a 
shake  of  his  head. 

"  It  is,"  Valentine  answered  ;  "  it  is 
plain  the  men  we  seek  are  not  far  from 
here.  Perhaps  they  are  listening  to 
us." 

"  It  is  possible,"  Unicorn  muttered 
"  but  what  is  to  be  done  in  the  dark 
ness  ?" 

"  Good  !  let  us  be  as  clever  as  they 
How  many  warriors  have  you  down 
there  ?" 

"  Ten,  I  believe." 
"  Good.    Have  you  among  them  any 
in  whom  you  can  trust?" 

"All,"  the  sachem  answered,  proudly 

"  I  do  not  allude  to  courage,  but  to 

experience." 

"  Wah  !  F  have  Spider." 

"That's  the  man.     He  will  take  our 

place  here  with  his  warriors;    he  will 

cut  off  the  communication  aloft,  while 

;  my    comrades    and    I    follow    you.     I 

should   like  to   inspect   the   spot  where 

your  prisoner  was  tied  up." 

All  was  arranged  as  Valentine  pro 
posed. 

Spider  established  himself  on  the 
trees  with  his  warriors,  with  orders  to 
keep  a  good  look-out;  and  Valentine, 
now  sure  of  having  raised  an  impassible 
barrier  before  Red  Cedar,  prepared  to 
go  to  the  camp,  accompanied  by  Uni 
com. 

Curumilla  again  interposed. 
"  Why  go  down  V  he  said. 
Valentine    was    so    well    acquainted 
with    his    comrade's  way  of  speaking, 
that  he  understood  him  at  half  a  word. 
"  True,"  he  said  to  Unicorn  ;  "  let  us 
go  to  the  camp,  proceeding  from  branch 
to  branch.     Curumilla  is  right ;  in  that 
•way,  if  Red  Cedar  is  concealed  in  the 
neighborhood,  we  shall  discover  him." 

The  Comanche  Sachem  nodded  his 
head  in  assent,  and  they  set  out. 

They  had  been  walking  for  about 
half  an  hour,  when  Curumilla,  who  was 
in  front,  stopped  and  uttered  a  sup 
pressed  cry. 

The  hunters  raised  their  heads,  and 
perceived,  a  few  yards  above  them,  an 


enormous  black  mass,  carelessly  sway 
ing  about. 

"  Well,"  Valentine  said,  "  what  is 
that  ?" 

"  A  bear,"  Curumilla  replied. 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Don  Pablo  ;  "  it  is  a 
splendid  black  bear." 

"  Let  us  give  him  a  bullet,"  Don 
Miguel  remarked. 

"  Do  not  fire,  for  Heaven's  sake !" 
Don  Pablo  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  it 
would  give  an  alarm  and  warn  the  fel 
lows  we  are  looking  for  of  the  spot 
where  we  are." 

"Still,  I  should  like  to  collar  it," 
Valentine  observed,  "  were  it  only  for 
its  fur." 

"  No,"  Unicorn  peremptorily  said, 
who  had  hitherto  been  silent,  "  bears  are 
the  cousins  of  my  family." 

"  In  that  case  it  is  different,"  said  the 
hunter,  concealing  with  difficulty  an 
ironical  smile. 

The  prairie  Indians,  as  we  think  we 
have  said  before,  are  excessively  super 
stitious. 

Among  other  articles  of  faith,  they 
believe  they  spring  from  certain  ani 
mals,  which  they  treat  as  relatives,  and 
for  which  they  profess  a  profound  re 
spect,  which  does  not  prevent  them, 
however,  from  killing  them  occasional 
ly,  as,  for  instance,  when  they  are  press 
ed  by  hunger,  as  frequently  happens  ; 
but  we  must  do  the  Indians  the  justice 
of  saying,  that  they  never  proceed  to 
such  extremities  with  their  relatives 
without  asking  their  pardon  a  thousand 
irnes,  and  first  explaining  to  them  that 
lunger  alone  compelled  them  to  have 
recourse  to  this  extreme  measure  to 
support  life. 

Unicorn  had  no  need  of  provisions  at 
s  moment,  for  his  camp  was  choked 
ivith  them,  hence  he  displayed  a  praise 
worthy  politeness  and  gallantry  to  his 
cousin  Bruin. 

He  bowed  to  him,  and  spoke  to  him 
or  some  minutes  in  the  most  affection- 
ite  way,  while  the  bear  continued  to 
way  about,  apparently  not  attaching 
jreat  importance  to  the  chief's  remarks, 
nd  rather  annoyed  than  flattered  by 
he  compliments  his  cousin  paid  him. 
"he  chief,  internally  piqued  by  this  in- 


150 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


difference  in  such  bad  taste,  gave  a  part 
ing  bow  to  the  bear,  and  went  on. 

The  little  party  advanced  for  some 
time  in  silence. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  Valentine  suddenly 
said  ;  "  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I  should 
have  liked  to  have  your  cousin's  hide, 
chief." 

"  VVah  !"  Unicorn  answered,  "there 
are  buffaloes  in  camp." 

"  I  know  that  very  well,"  Valentine 
said,  "  so  that  is  not  my  reason." 

"  What  is  it,  then?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  that  bear  did  not 
seem  to  me  all  right,  and  had  a  suspi 
cious  look  about  it." 

"  My  brother  is  jesting." 

"No;  on  my  word,  chief,  that  ani- 
did  not  seem  to  me  true.  For  a  trifle, 
I  would  return  and  have  it  out." 

"  Does  my  brother  think,  then,  that 
Unicorn  is  a  child,  who  cannot  recog 
nize  an  animal?"  the  sachem  asked, 
haughtily. 

"  Heaven  forbid  my  having  such  a 
thought,  chief;  I  know  you  are  an  ex 
perienced  warrior,  but  the  cleverest  men 
may  be  taken  in." 

"Oh!  oh!  what  does  my  brother 
^uppose,  then  ?" 

"Will  you  have  my  honest  opinion?" 

"Yes,  my  brother  will  speak;  he  is 
a  great  hunter,  his  knowledge  is  im 
mense." 

"  No,  I  am  only  an  ignorant  fellow, 
but  I  have  carefully  studied  the  habits 
of  wild  beasts." 

"  Well,"  Don  Miguel  asked,  "  your 
opinion  is  that  the  bear " 

"  Is  Red  Cedar,  or  one  of  his  sons," 
Valentine  quickly  interrupted. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Just  this:  at  this  hour  wild  beasts 
have  gone  down  to  drink ;  but  even 
supposing  that  bear  had  returned  al 
ready,  do  you  not  know  that  all  animals 
fly  from,  man?  This  one,  dazzled  by 
the  light,  startled  by  the  cries  it  heard 
in  the  usually  quiet  forest,  ought  to 
have  tried  to  escape  if  it  obeyed  its  in 
stincts,  which  would  have  been  easy  to 
do,  instead  of  impudently  dancing  be 
fore  us  at  a  height  of  one  hundred  feet 
from  the  ground  ;  the  more  so,  because 
tl»e  bear  is  too  prudent  and  selfish  an 
animal  to'confide  its  precious  carcase  so 


thoughtlessly  to  such  slender  branches 
as  those  on  which  it  was  balancing. 
Hum  !  the  more  I  reflect,  the  more  per 
suaded  I  am  that  this  animal  is  a  man." 

The  hunters,  and  Unicorn  himself, 
who  listened  with  the  utmost  attention 
to  Valentine's  words,  were  struck  with 
the  truth  of  his  remarks ;  numerous 
details  which  had  escaped  them  now  re 
turned  to  their  minds,  and  corroborated 
the  Trail-hunter's  suspicions. 

"It  is  possible,"  Don  Miguel  said, 
"  and  for  my  part  I  am  not  indisposed 
to  believe  it." 

"  Good  gracious !"  Valentine  went 
on,  "you  can  understand  that  on  so 
dark  a  night  as  this  it  was  easy  for  the 
chief,  in  spite  of  all  his  experience,  to 
be  deceived — especially  at  such  a  dis 
tance  as  we  were  from  the  animal, 
which  we  only  glimpsed;  still,  we  com 
mitted  a  grave  fault,  and  1  first  of  all, 
in  not  trying  to  acquire  a  certainty." 

"Ah!"  the  Indian  said,  "my  bro 
ther  is  right ;  wisdom  resides  in  him." 

"  Now  it  is  too  late  to  go  back — the 
fellow  will  have  decamped,"  Valentine 
remarked,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but,"  he  ad 
ded  a  moment  after,  as  he  looked 
round,  "  where  on  earth  is  Curumilla?" 

At  the  same  instant  a  loud  noise 
breaking  branches,  followed  by  a  su 
pressed  cry,  was  heard  a  little  distan 
off. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  Valentine  said,  "  can  the 
bear  be  at  any  tricks  ?" 

The  cry  of  the  jay  was  heard. 

"That  is  Curumilla's  signal,"  said 
Valent  ne ;  "what  the  deuce  can  he  be 
up  to  ?" 

"  Let  us  go  back  and  see,"  Don  Mi 
guel  remarked. 

"  By  Jove  !  do   you   fancy  I  should 
desert  my  old  companion   so?"  Valen 
tine   exclaimed,    as    he    replied  to   his 
friend  by  a  similar  cry  to  the  one  h 
had  given. 

The  hunters  hurried  back  as  quickl 
as  the  narrow  and  dangerous  path  the 
were  following  allowed. 

Curumilla,  comfortably  seated  on  a 
branch  whose  foliage  completely  hid 
him  from  any  one  who  might  be  spy 
ing  overhead,  was  laughing  to  himself. 
It  was  so  extraordinary  to  see  the  Ul- 
men  laugh,  and  the  hour  seemed  so 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


151 


unsir.ted  for  it,  that.  Valentine  was  al 
armed,  and  at  the  first  moment  was  not 
far  from  believing  that  his  worthy 
friend  had  suddenly  gone  mad. 

"  Halloh,  chief,"  he  said,  as  he  look 
ed  round,  "  tell  rne  why  you  are  laugh 
ing  »o.  Were  it  only  to  follow  your 
example,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  the 
cause  of  this  extreme  gaiety." 

Curumilla  fixed  his  intelligent  eye 
on  him,  and  replied,  with  a  smile  full 
of  good  humor : 

"The  Ulmen  is  pleased." 

"  I  can  see  that,"  Valentine  replied, 
"  but  I  do  not  know  why,  and  want  to 
do  so." 

"Curumilla  has  killed  the  bear,"  the 
Aucas  said,  sententiously. 

"  Nonsense  !"  Valentine  remarked, 
in  surprise. 

"  My  brother  can  look,  there  is  the 
chief's  cousin." 

Unicorn  looked  savage,  but  Valentine 
and  his  friends  peered  in  the  direction 
indicated  by  the  Araucano.  Cururnil- 
la's  lasso,  securely  fastened  to  the 
branch  on  which  the  hunters  were 
standing,  hung  downwards,  with  a  black 
and  clumsy  mass  swaying  from  its  ex 
tremity. 

It  was  the  bear's  carcass. 

Curumilla,  during  the  conversation 
between  Unicorn  and  his  relative,  care 
fully  watched  the  animal's  movement; 
like  Valentine,  its  motions  did  not  seem 
to  him  natural  enough,  and  he  wished 
to  know  the  truth.  Consequently,  he 
waited  the  departure  of  his  friends, 
fastened  his  lasso  to  a  branch,  and  while 
the  bear  was  carelessly  descending  from 
its  perch,  fancying  it  had  got  rid  of  its 
visitors,  Curumilla  lassoed  it. 

At  this  unexpected  attack  the  animal 
tottered  and  lost  its  balance — in  short, 
it  fell,  and  remaining  suspended  in  the 
air ;  thanks  to  the  slip  knot,  which 
pressed  its  throat  and  saved  it  from 
broken  bones  ;  as  a  recompense,  how 
ever,  it  was  strangled. 

The  hunters  began  drawing  up  the 
lasso,  for  all  burned  to  know  were 
they  deceived. 

After  some  efforts  the  animal's 
corpse  was  stretched  out  on  a  branch. 

Valentine  beat  over  it,  but  rose 
again  almost  immediately. 


"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  said,  contemp 
tuously. 

He  kicked  off  the  head,  which  fell, 
displaying  in  its  stead  Nathan's  face, 
whose  features  were  frightfully  con 
vulsed. 

"Oh!"  they   exclaimed,    "Nathan." 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  remarked.  "  Red 
Cedar's  eldest  son." 

"One!"  Don  Miguel  said,  in  a  hol 
low  voice. 

Poor  Nathan  was  not  lucky  in  his 
disguises;  in  the  first  he  was  all  but 
burnt  alive,  in  the  second  he  was 
handed. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE     HUNT      CONTINUED. 

THE  hunters  stood  for  a  moment 
silent,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  their 
enemy. 

Unicorn,  who  doubtless  owed  Na 
than  a  grudge  for  the  way  in  which 
he  had  deceived  him  by  passing  for 
one  of  his  relatives,  broke  the  sort  of 
charm  that  enthralled  them,  by  draw 
ing  his  scalping  knife  and  raising  the 
poor  fellow's  hair  with  uncommon  dex 
terity. 

"  It  is  the  scalp  of  a  dog  of  the  Long- 
knives,"  he  said,  contemptuously  as  he 
placed  his  bleeding  trophy  in  his  girdle  : 

his  lying  tongue  will  never  again 
deceive  anybody." 

Valentine  was  deep  in  thought. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?''  Don  Mi 
guel  asked. 

"  Canelo !"    Don    Pablo    exclaimed, 
"  that  is  not  difficult  to  guess,  father — 
tart  at  once  in  pursuit  of  Red  Cedar." 

"  What  does  my  brother  say  ?"  Uni 
corn  asked,  as  he  turned,  deferentially 
to  Valentine. 

The  latter  raised  his  head. 

"  All  is  over  for  this  night,"  he  re 
plied  ;  "  that  man  was  ordered  to 
amuse  us  while  his  friends  fled.  Try 
ing  to  pursue  them  at  this  moment 
would  be  signal  folly  ;  they  have  too 
£reat  a  start  for  us  possibly  to  catch 
them  up,  and  the  night  is  so  black  that 
we  should  want  a  sentry  on  every 
branch.  We  will  content  ourselves  for 


152 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


the  present  by  keeping  our  line  of 
scouts  as  we  placed  them.  At  day 
break  the  council  of  the  tribe  will  as 
semble,  and  decide  on  the  further  meas 
ures  to  be  taken." 

All  followed  the  hunter's  advice,  and 
they  returned  towards  the  camp,  which 
they  reached  an  hour  later. 

On  entering  the  clearing,  Unicorn 
tapped  Valentine  on  the  shoulder. 

"I  have  to  speak  with  my  brother," 
he  said. 

"  I  am  listening  to  my  brother,"  the 
hunter  replied ;  "  his  voice  is  a  music 
that  always  rejoices  my  heart." 

"  My  brother  will  be  much  more  re 
joiced,"  the  chief  answered,  a  smiling, 
"  when  he  hears  what  I  have  to  tell  him." 

"  The  sachem  can  only  be  the  bearer 
of  good  news  to  me  ;  what  has  he  to 
tell  me  ?" 

"  Sunbeam  reached  the  camp  to 
day." 

Valentine  started. 

"  Was  she  alone?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Alone !  she  would  not  have  dared 
to  come,"  the  chief  remarked, with  some 
haughtiness. 

"That  is  true,"  Valentine  said,  anx 
iously  ;  "  then  my  mother  ?" 

"  The  hunter's  mother  is  here  ;  I  have 
given  her  my  calli." 

"  Thanks,  chief,"  he  exclaimed,  warm 
ly  ;  "oh!  you  are  truly  a  brother  to 
me." 

"  The  great  pale  hunter  is  a  son  of  the 
tribe  ;  he  is  the  brother  of  all  of  us." 

"  Oh,  my  mother,  my  good  mother ! 
How  did  she  come  hither  1  Oh,  I  must 
run  to  see  her." 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  Curumilla. 

The  Araueano,  at  the  first  word  utter 
ed  by  Unicorn,  guessing  the  pleasure  he 
should  cause  his  friend,  had  gone,  with 
out  saying  a  word,  to  seek  Madame 
Guillois,  whom  anxiety  kept  awake, 
though  she  was  far  from  suspecting 
that  her  son  was  near  her. 

"  My  child  !"  the  worthy  woman  said, 
as  she  pressed  him  to  her  heart. 

After  the  first  emotion  had  passed 
over,  Valentine  took  his  mother's  arm 
in  his,  and  led  her  gently  back  to  the 
calli. 

"  You  are  not  wise,  mother,"  he  said, 
with  an  accent  of  reproach.  "  Why 


did  you  leave  the  village  ?  The  season 
is  advanced,  it  is  cold,  and  you  do  not 
know  the  deadly  climate  of  the  prairies; 
your  health  is  far  from  strong,  and  I 
wish  you  to  nurse  yourself.  1  ask  you 
to  do  so,  not  for  yourself  but  for  me. 
Alas  !  what  would  become  of  me,  were 
I  to  lose  you  !" 

"My  dear  child,"  the  old  lady  repli 
ed,  tenderly.  "  Oh  !  how  happy  I  am  to 
be  thus  loved.  What  I  experience  at 
present  amply  repays  all  the  suffering 
your  absence  occasioned  me.  I  implore 
you  to  let  me  act  as  1  like  ;  at  my  age, 
a  woman  should  not  calculate  on  a  mor 
row.  I  will  not  seperate  far  from  you 
again ;  let  me,  at  any  rate,  have  the 
happiness  of  dying  in  your  arms,  if  I 
am  not  permitted  to  live." 

Valentine  regarded  his  mother  atten 
tively. 

These  ill-omened  words  struck  him  to 
the  heart.  He  was  frightened  by  the 
expression  of  her  face,  whose  pallor  and 
extreme  tenuity  had  something  fatal 
about  it. 

Madame  Guillois  perceived  her  son's 
emotion,  and  smiled  sadly. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  shall 
not  be  a  burden  to  you  long  ;  the  Lord 
will  soon  recal  me  to  him." 

"-Oh,  speak  not  so,  mother.  Dis 
miss  those  gloomy  thoughts.  You  have, 
I  hope  many  a  long  day  to  pass  by  my 
side." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head,  as  aged 
persons  do  when  they  fancy  themselves 
certain  of  a  thing. 

"  No  weak  illusions,  my  son,"  she 
said,  in  a  firm  voice  ;  "  be  a  man — pre 
pare  yourself  for  a  speedy  and  inevita 
ble  seperation.  But  promise  me  one 
thing." 

"  Speak,  mother." 

"  Whatever  may  happen,  swear  not 
to  send  rne  away  from  you  again." 

"  Why,  mother,  you  order  me  to 
commit  a  murder.  In  your  present 
state  you  could  not  lead  my  mode  of 
life  for  two  days." 

"  No  matter,  my  son,  I  will  not  leave 
you  again  :  take  the  oath  I  demand  of 
you." 

"  Mother  !"  he  said,  hesitating. 

"  You  refuse  me,  my  son  !"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  pain. 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


153 


Valentine  felt  almost  heartbroken  ; 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  resist  longer. 

"  Well,"  he  murmured,  sorrowfully, 
"  since  you  insist,  mother,  be  it  so  ;  I 
swear  that  we  shall  never  be  separated 
again." 

A  flush  of  pleasure  lit  up  the  poor 
old  lady's  face,  and  for  a  moment  she 
looked  happy. 

"  Bless  you,  my  son,"  she  said. 
"  You  render  me  very  happy  by  grant 
ing  what  I  ask." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  stifled  sigh, 
"  it  is  you  who  wish  it,  mother  :  your 
•will  be  done,  and  may  Heaven  not 
punish  me  for  having  obeyed  you. 
Now  it  is  my  turn  to  ask,  as  henceforth 
the  care  of  your  health  concerns  me 
alone." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  said, 
with  an  ineffable  smile. 

"  1  wish  you  to  take  a  few  hours'  in- 
dispensible  rest,  after  your  fatigues  of 
the  day." 

"  And  you,  dear  child  ?" 

"  I  shall  sleep  too,  mother  ;  for  if  to 
day  has  been  fatiguing,  to-morrow  will 
be  equally  so ;  so  rest  in  peace,  and 
feel  no  anxiety  on  my  account." 

Madame  Guillois  tenderly  embraced 
her  son,  and  threw  herself  on  the  bed 
prepared  for  her  by  Sunbeam's  care. 

Valentine  then  left  the  calli,  and  re 
joined  his  friends,  who  were  reposing 
round  a  fire  lit  by  Curumilla.  Careful 
ly  wrapping  himself  in  his  buffalo  robe 
he  laid  on  the  ground,  closed  his  eyes, 
and  sought  sleep — that  great  consoler 
of  the  afflicted,  who  often  call  it  in 
vain  for  a  long  time  ere  it  deigns  to 
come  for  a  few  hours,  and  enable  them 
to  forget  their  sorrows. 

He  was  aroused,  towards  daybreak, 
by  a  hand  being  softly  laid  on  his 
shoulder,  and  a  voice  timidly  murmur 
ing  his  name. 

The  hunter  opened  his  eyes,  and  sat 
up  quickly. 

"  Who  goes  there?"  he  said. 

"  I !  White  Gazelle." 

Valentine,  now  completely  awake, 
threw  off  his  buffalo  robe,  got  up  and 
shook  himself  several  times. 

"  I  am  at  your  orders,"  he  saii. 
"  What  do  you  desire  ?" 

"  To  ask  your  advice,"  she  replied. 


"  Speak  :  I  am  listening." 
,    "  Last    night,     while     Unicorn    and 
yourself  were   looking   for   Red    Cedar 
on  one  side,  Black  Cat  and  I  were  look 
ing  on  the  other." 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?"  he 
quickly  interrupted  her. 

"  No ;  but  I  suspect  it." 

He  gave  her  a  scrutinising  glance, 
which  she  endured  without  letting  her 
eyes  sink. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  now  entirely 
devoted  to  you,"  she  said,  candidly. 

"  Pardon  me — I  am  wrong  :  go  on, 
I  beg  you." 

"  When  I  said  I  wished  to  ask  your 
advice,  I  was  wrong ;  I  should  have 
said  I  had  a  prayer  to  address  to  you." 

"  Be  assured  that  if  it  be  possible 
for  me  to  grant  it,  I  will  do  so  without 
hesitation." 

White  Gazelle  stopped  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  then,  making  an  effort  over  her 
self,  she  seemed  to  form  a  resolution, 
and  went  on  : 

"  You  have  no  personal  hatred  to  Red 
Cedar  ?" 

"  Pardon  me.  Red  Cedar  is  a  vil 
lain,  who  plunged  a  family  I  love  into 
mourning  and  woe :  he  caused  the 
d,eath  of  a  maiden  who  was  very  dear 
to  me,  and  of  a  man  to  whom  I  was  at 
tached  by  ties  of  friendship." 

White  Gazelle  gave  a  start  of  im 
patience,  which  she  at  once  repressed. 
"  Then  1"  she  said. 

"  If  he  fall  into  my  hands,  I  will  re 
morselessly  kill  him." 

"  Still,  there  is  another  person  who 
has  had,  for  many  years,  terrible  in 
sults  to  avenge  on  him."* 

"  Whom  do  you  allude  to?" 

"  Bloodson." 

"  That  is  true ;  he  told  me  he  had  a 
fearful  account  to  settle  with  his  ban 
dit." 

"  Well,"  she  said  quickly,  "  be  kind 
enough  to  let  my  uncle,  I  mean  Blood- 
son,  capture  Red  Cedar." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  this  of  me?" 

"  Because  the  hour  has  arrived  to  do 
so,  Don  Valentine." 

"  Explain  yourself." 

"  Ever  since  the  bandit  has  been 
confined  in  the  mountains  with  no 
hope  of  escape,  I  was  ordered  by  my 


154 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


uncle  to  ask   you  to  yield   this  capture 
to  him,  when  the  moment  came  for  it," 

"  But  suppose  he  let  him  escape  !" 
said  Va/entine. 

She  smiled  with  an  indefinable  ex 
pression. 

"-That  is  impossible,"  she  answered, 
"  you  do  not  know  what  a  twenty 
years'  hatred  is." 

She  uttered  these  words  with  an  ac 
cent  that  made  the  hunter,  brave  as  he 
was,  tremble. 

Valentine,  as  he  said,  would  have  kill 
ed  Red  Cedar  without  hesitation,  like  a 
dog,  if  chance  brought  them  face  to 
face  in  a  fair  fight  ;  but  it  was  repulsive 
to  his  feelings  and  honor  to  strike  a  dis 
armed  foe,  however  vile  and  unworthy 
he  might  be.  While  inwardly  recogniz 
ing  the  necessity  of  finishing  once  for 
all  with  that  human-faced  tiger  called 
Red  Cedar,  he  was  not  sorry  that  an 
other  assumed  the  responsibility  of  such 
an  act,  and  constituted  himself  execu 
tioner. 

White  Gazelle  carefully  watched  him, 
and  anxiously  followed  in  his  face  the 
various  feelings  that  agitated  him,  try 
ing  to  guess  his  resolution. 

"  Well  T'  she  asked  at  the  end  of  a 
moment. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  said. 

"  Leave  me  to  act  ;  draw  in  the 
blockading  force,  so  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  our  foe  to  pass,  even  if 
he  assumed  the  shape  of  a  prairie  dog, 
and  wait  without  stirring." 

"  For  long  ?" 

"  No  ;  for  two  days,  three  at  the 
most ;  is  that  too  long  ?" 

"  Not  if  you  keep  your  promise." 

"  I  will  keep  it,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  my  uncle  shall  keep  it  for 
me." 

"  That  is  the  same  thing." 
j     "  No,  it  is  better." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant." 

"  It  is  settled,  then  !" 

"  One  word  more.  You  know  how 
my  friend  Don  Miguel  Zarate  suffered 
through  Red  Cedar,  1  think  ?" 

"  1  do." 

"  I  know  the  villain  killed  his  daugh 
ter  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  tremor  in  her 
voice,  "  I  know  it ;  but  trust  to  me, 


Don  Valentine  ;  I  swear  to  you  that 
Don  Miguel  shall  be  more  fully  aveng 
ed  than  ever  he  hoped  to  be." 

"  Good  ;  if  at  the  end  of  three  days 
I  grant  you,  justice  is  not  dene  on  that 
villain,  1  will  undertake  it,  and  1  swear 
in  my  turn  that  it  will  be  terrible." 

"  Thanks,  Don  Valentine,  now  1  will 

go." 

"  Where  to  ?" 

"  To  join  Bloodson,  and  carry  him 
your  answer." 

White  Gazelle  leaped  lightly  on  her 
horse,  which  was  fastened  ready  saddled 
to  a  tree,  and  set  off  at  a  gallop,  wav 
ing  her  hand  to  the  hunter  for  the  last 
time  in  thanks. 

"  What  a  singular  creature  ?"  Valen 
tine  muttered. 

As  day  had  dawned  during  this  con 
versation,  the  Trail-hunter  proceeded  to 
ward  Unicorn's  calli,  to  assemble  the 
great  chiefs  in  council. 

So  soon  as  the  hunter  entered  the 
lodge,  Don  Pablo,  who  ly.d  hitherto  re 
mained  motionless,  pretending  to  sleep, 
suddenly  rose. 

"  Good  Heavens  !"  he  exclaimed, as  he 
clasped  his  hands  fervently.  "  How  to 
save  poor  Ellen  1  if  she  falls  into  the 
hands  of  that  fury,  she  is  lost." 

Then  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he 
ran  toward  Unicorn's  calli. 

Valentine  came  out  of  it  at  the  mo 
ment  the  yuui'g  man  reached  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going"  to  at  that  rate, 
my  friend  ?"  he  asked  him. 

"  I  want  a  horse." 

"A  horse?"  Valentine  said  in  sur 
prize  ;  "  what  to  do  ?" 

The  Mexican  gave  him  a  glance  of 
strange  meaning. 

"  To  go  to  Bloodson's  camp,"  he  said 
resolutely. 

A  sad  smile  played  round  the  Trail- 
hunter's  lips.  He  pressed  the  young 
man's  hand,  saying  in  a  sympathizing 
voice : 

"  Poor  lad  r 

"  Let  me  go,  Valentine,  I  implore 
you,"  he  said  earnestly. 

The  hunter  unfastened  a  horse  that 
was  nibbling  the  young  tree  shoots  in 
front  of  the  lodge. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  go  where 
your  destiny  drags  you." 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


The  young  man  thanked  him  warm 
ly,  leaped  on  the  horse,  and  started  off 
at  full  speed. 

Valentine  looked  after  him  for  some 
time,  and  when  the  rider  had  disappear 
ed,  he  gave  vent  to  a  profound  sigh,  as 
he  murmured  : 

"  He,  too,  loves — unhappy  man  !" 

And  he  entered  his  mother's  calli,  to 
give  her  the  morning  kiss. 


CHAPTER     XXXVI. 

THE    LAST    REFUGE. 

WE  must  now  return  to  Red  Cedar. 

When  th  •  squatter  heard  the  yells  of 
the  redskins,  and  saw  their  torches 
flashing  through  the  trees  in  the  distance, 
he  at  the  first  start  of  terror  thought 
himself  lost,  and  burying  his  head  in 
his  hands,  he  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground,  had  not  Fray  Ambrosio  caught 
hold  of  him  just  in  time. 

"  Demonios  !"  the  monk  exclaimed, 
"take  care,  gossip,  gestures  are  danger 
ous  here." 

But  the  bandit's  despondency  lasted 
no  longer  t  um  a  flash  of  lightning  ;  he 
drew  himself  up  again,  almost  as  haugh 
ty  as  he  had  been  previously,  saying  in 
a  firm  voice  : 

"  I  will  escape." 

"  Bravely  spoken,  gossip,"  the  monk 
said  ;  "  but  we  must  act." 

"Forward  !"  the  squatter  howled. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?' the  monk 
cried,  with  a  start  of  terror;  "  why, 
that  leads  to  the  redskins'  camp." 

"  Forward,  I  tell  you." 

"  Very  good,  and  may  the  devil  pro 
tect  us  !"  Fray  Ambrosio  muttered. 

The  s*quatt*;r,  as  he  said,  marched 
boldly  toward  the  camp ;  they  soon 
reached  the  spot  where  they  let  down 
a  lasso  for  Nathan,  and  which  they  had 
beaten  a  retreat  from  in,  their  first  move 
ment  of  terror.  On  reaching  it,  the 
squatter  parted  the  branches,  and  look 
ed  down. 

All  the  camp  was  aroused  ;  Indians 
could  be  seen  running  about  iu  all  di 
rections. 

"Oh,"  Red  Cedar  muttered,  "I  hoped 


all  these  demons  would  start  in  pursuit 
of  us  ;  it  is  impossible  to  cross  there." 

"We  cannot  think  of  it,"  said  Nathan, 
'•  we  should  be  hopelessly  lost." 

"  Let  us  do  something,"  said  the 
monk. 

Ellen,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  seated 
herself  on  a  branch,  and  her  father 
gazed  at  her  in  despair. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  how  she  suffers  !" 

"  Do  not  think  about  me,  father," 
she  said  ;  "  save  yourself,  and  leave  me 
here." 

"  Leave  you  !"  he  cried,  savagely  ; 
"  never  !  not  if  I  died  ;  no,  no,  1  will 
save  you." 

"  What  have  I  to  fear  from  these 
men,  to  whom  I  never  did  any  harm  ?" 
she  continued  ;  "  they  will  have  pity  on 
my  weakness." 

Red  Cedar  burst  into  an  ironical 
laugh. 

"  Ask  the  jaguars  if  they  pity  the 
antelopes,"  he  said.  "  You  do  not  know 
the  savages,  poor  child.  They  would 
torture  you  to  death  with  ferocious 
joy." 

Ellen  sighed,  and  let  her  head  droop. 

"Time  is  slipping  away;  let  us  de 
cide  on  something,"  the  monk  repeated. 

"  Go  to  the  devil !''  the  squatter  said 
brutally;  "you  are  my  evil  genius." 

"  How  ungrateful  men  are !"  the 
monk  said,  ironically,  as  he  raided  his 
hypocritical  eyes  to  Heaven  ;  "  1,  who 
am  his  dearest  friend." 

"  Enough,"  Red  Cedar  said,  furious 
ly  ;  "  we  cannot  remain  here,  so  let  us 
go  back." 

"What,  again?" 

"  Do  you  know  any  other  road,  de 
mon  r 

"Where  is  Nathan?"  the  squatter 
suddenly  asked;  "has  he  fallen  off?" 

"  Not  such  a  fool,"  the  young  man 
said,  with  a  laugh ;  "  but  I  have  chang 
ed  my  dress." 

He  parted  the  leaves  that  hid  him, 
and  his  comrades  gave  a  cry  of  surprise. 

Nathan  was  clothed  in  a  bear-skin, 
and  carried  the  head  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  said  Red  Cedar,  "  that  is 
a  lucky  find  :  where  did  you  steal  that, 
lad?" 

"  I  only  had  the  trouble  to  take  it  off 


156 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


the  branch  where  it   was  hung  to  dry." 

"  Take  care  of  it,  for  it  may  be  of 
use  ere  long." 

"  That  is  what  I  thought." 

After  taking  a  few  steps,  Red  Cedar 
stopped,  stretched  out  his  arm  to  warn 
his  comrades,  and  listened.  After  two 
oi1  three  minutes,  he  turned  to  his  com 
rades  and  whispered  : 

"  Our  retreat  is  cut  off;  people  are 
walking  on  the  trees,  I  heard  branches 
creaking  and  leaves  rustling." 

They  gazed  at  each  other  in  terror. 

"We  will  not  despair,"  he  went  on, 
quickly,  "  all  is  not  yet  lost ;  let  us  go 
higher,  and  on  one  side,  till  they  have 
passed;  during  that  time,  Nathan  will 
amuse  them ;  the  Comanches  rarely  do 
an  injury  to  a  bear." 

No  one  made  any  objection,  so  Sut- 
ter  started  first,  and  the  monk  followed. 

Ellen  looked  at  her  father  sorrowful- 

ijr. 

"  I  care  not,"  she  said. 

"  I  say  again,  I  will  save  you,  child," 
he  replied  with  great  tenderness. 

He  took  the  maiden  in  his  powerful 
arms,  and  laid  her  softly  on  his  shoul- 
det. 

"  Hold  ou,"  he  muttered,  "  and  fear 
nothing." 

Then,  with  a  dexterity  and  strength 
doubled  by  a  father's  love,  the  bandit 
seized  the  bough  over  his  head  with 
one  hand,  and  disappeared  in  the  foli 
age,  after  saying  to  his  son  : 

"  Look  out,  Nathan,  play  your  part 
cleverly,  lad,  our  safety  depends  on 
you." 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  old  one,"  the 
young  man  replied,  as  he  put  on  the 
bear's  head  ;  "  I  am  not  more  stupid 
than  an  Indian ;  they  will  take  me  for 
their  cousin." 

We  know  what  happened,  and  how 
this  trick,  at  first  so  successful,  was 
foiled  by  Curumilla. 

On  seeing  his  &on  fall,  the  squatter 
was  momentarily  affected  by  a  blind 
rage,  and  pointed  his  rifle  at  the  Indian. 
Fortunately  the  monk  saw  the  impru 
dent  gesture  soon  enough  to  check  him. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?"  he  hoarse 
ly  whispered,  as  he  struck  up  the  bar 
rel  ;  "you  will  destroy  your  daugh 
ter." 


"  That  is  true,"  the  squatter  mutter 
ed. 

Ellen,  by  an  extraordinary  hazard, 
had  seen  nothing ;  had  she  done  so,  it 
is  probable  that  her  brother's  death 
would  have  drawn  from  her  a  cry  of 
agony,  which  must  have  denounced  her 
companions. 

"  Oh,"  Red  Cedar  said,  "still  that  ac 
cursed  Trail-hunter  and  his  devil  of  an 
Indian.  They  alone  can  conquer  me." 

The  fugitives  remained  for  an  hour 
in  a  state  of  terrible  alarm,  not  daring 
to  stir,  through  fear  of  being  discover 
ed. 

They  were  so  close  to  their  pursuers 
that  they  distinctly  heard  what  they 
said,  but  at  length  the  speakers  retired, 
the  torches  were  put  out,  and  all  be 
came  silent  again. 

"Ouf!"said  the  monk,  "  they  have 
gone. 

"  Not  all,"  the  squatter  answered  ; 
"  did  you  not  hear  that  accursed  Valen 
tine  ?" 

"  That  is  true  ;  our  retreat  is  still 
cut  off." 

"  We  must  not  despair  yet ;  for  the 
present  we  have  nothing  to  fear  here  ; 
rest  a  little  while,  while  I  go  on  the 
search." 

"  Hum!"  Fray  Ambrosio  muttered  ; 
"  why  not  go  altogether  ?  that  would  be 
more  prudent,  I  think." 

Red  Cedar  laughed  bitterly. 

"Listen,  gossip,"  he  said  to  the  monk, 
as  he  seized  his  arm,  which  he  pressed 
like  a  vice  :  "  you  distrust  me,  and  you 
are  wrong.  1  wished  once  to  leave 
you,  I  allow,  but  I  no  longer  wish  it. 
We  will  perish  or  escape  together." 

'•  Oh,  oh  !  are  you  speaking  serious 
ly,  gossip  V 

"  Yes ;  for,  trusting  to  the  foolish 
promises  of  a  priest,  1  resolved  to  re 
form  ;  I  altered  my  life,  and  led  a  pain 
ful  existence ;  not  injuring  anybody, 
and  toiling  honestly.  The  men  I  wish 
ed  to  forget  remembered  me  in  their 
thirst  for  revenge.  Paying  no  heed  to 
my  wish  to  repent,  they  fired  my 
wretched  jacal  and  killed  my  son. 
Now  they  track  me  like  a  wild  beast, 
the  old  instincts  are  aroused  in  me,  and 
the  evil  leaven  that  slept  in  my  heart 
is  fermenting  afresh.  They  have  de- 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


157 


olared  a  war  to  the  death.  Well,  by 
heaven,  I  accept  it,  and  will  wage  it 
without  pity,  truce,  or  mercy,  not  ask 
ing  of  them,  if  they  captured  me,  less 
than  I  would  give  them  if  they  fell  into 
my  hands.  Let  them  take  care,  for  1 
am  Red  Cedar !  he  the  Indians  call 
the  Man-eater  (Witchasta  Joute)  and  I 
will  devour  their  hearts.  So,  at  pre 
sent,  be  at  your  ease,  monk,  we  shall 
not  part  again  :  you  are  my  conscience 
— we  are  inseparable." 

The  squatter  uttered  those  atrocious 
words  with  such  an  accent  of  rage  and 
hatred,  that  the  monk  saw  he  really 
spoke  the  truth,  and  his  evil  instincts 
had  definitively  gained  the  upper  hand. 
A  hideous  smile  of  joy  curled  his  lips. 

"  Well,  gossip,"  he  said,  "  go  and 
look  out,  we  will  await  you  here." 

During  the  squatter's  absence  not  a 
word  was  uttered. 

Sutter  was  asleep,  the  monk  thinking, 
and  Ellen  weeping. 

The  poor  girl  had  heard  with  sorrow 
mingled  with  horror  her  father's  atroci 
ous  sentiments.  She  then  measured  tlie 
fearful  depth  of  the  abyss  into  which 
she  was  suddenly  hurled,  for  Red  Ce 
dar's  determination  cut  her  off  eternally 
from  society,  and  condemned  her  to  a 
life  of  grief  and  tears. 

After  about  an  hour's  absence  Red 
Cedar  re-appeared,  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  was  joyous. 

"  Well ! '  the  monk  anxiously  asked 
him. 

"  Good  news,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  have 
discovered  a  refuge  where  I  defy  the 
cleverest  bloodhounds  of  the  prairies  to 
track  me." 

"  Is  it  far  from  here  ?" 

"  A  very  little  distance  ;  but  that  will 
prove  our  security.  Our  enemies  will 
never  suppose  we  had  the  impudence 
to  hide  so  close  to  them." 

"  That  is  true  ;  we  will  go  there, 
then." 

"  When  you  please." 

"  At  once." 

Red  Cedar  told  the  truth.  He  had 
really  discovered  a  refuge,  which  offer 
ed  a  very  desirable  guarantee  of  secu 
rity. 

Had  we  not  ourselves  witnessed  a 
similar  thing  in  the  Far  West,  we  should 


not  put  faith  in  the  possibility  of  such 
a  hiding-place. 

After  going  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  yards,  the  squatter  stopped  before 
an  enormous  oak  that  had  died  of  old 
age,  and  whose  interior  was  hollow. 

"  It  is  here,"  he  said,  cautiously  part 
ing  the  mass  of  leaves,  branches,  and 
creepers  that  completely  concealed  the 
cavity. 

"  Hum  !"  the  monk  said,  as  he  peer 
ed  down  into  the  hole,  which  was  dark 
as  pitch  ;  "  have  we  got  to  go  down 
there  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Red  Cedar  replied  ;  "  but  re 
assure  yourself,  it  is  not  very  deep." 

In  spite  of  this  assurance  the  monk 
still  hesitated. 

"  Take  it  or  leave  it,"  the  squatter 
went  on  ;  "  do  you  prefer  being  cap 
tured  ?" 

"  But  we  shall  not  be  able  to  stir 
down  there  ?" 

"  Look  around  you." 

"  I  am  looking." 

"  Do  you  perceive  that  the  mountain 
is  perpendicular  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Good  ;  we  are  on  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  which  poor  Nathan  told  us 
of." 

"  Ah  !" 

"  Yes  ;  yoll  see  that  this  dead  tree 
seem.s,  as  it  were,  welded  to  the  moun 
tain  V' 

"  That  is  true.  I  did  not  notice  it  at 
first." 

"  Well ;  going  down  that  cavity,  for 
fifteen  feet  at  the  most,  you  will  find 
another  which  passes  the  back  of  the 
tree,  and  communicates  with  a  cavern." 

"  Oh  !"  the  monk  exclaimed  gleefully, 
'  how  did  you  discove'r  this  hiding- 
place  r 

The  squatter  sighed. 

"  It  was  long  ago,"  he  said. 

"  Stay,"  Fray  Ambrosio  objected  ; 
'  others  may  know  it  beside  yourself."  i 

"  No,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head; 
'  only  one  man  knows  it  beside  myself, 
and  his  discove.ry  cost  him  his  life." 

"  That  is  reassuring.'' 

"  No  hunter  or  trapper  ever  comes 
,his  way,  for  it  is  a  precipice ;  if  we 
were  to  take  a  few  steps  further  in  that 
direction,  we  should  find  ourselves  sus- 


153 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


pended  over  an  abyss  of  unknown  depth, 
one  of  the  sides  of  which  this  mountain 
forms.  However,  to  quiet  your  fears, 
J  will  go  down  first." 

Red  Cedar  threw  into  the  gaping  hol 
low  a  few  pieces  of  candle-wood  he  had 
procured ;  he  put  his  rifle  on  his  back, 
and,  hanging  by  his  hands,  let  himself 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  Sutter 
and  the  monk  curiously  watching  him. 

The  squatter  struck  a  light,  lit  one  of 
the  torches,  and  waved  it  about  his 
head.  The  monk  then  perceived  that 
the  old  scalp-hunter  had  spoken  the 
truth. 

Red  Cedar  entered  the  cavern,  in  the 
floor  of  which  he  stuck  his  torch,  so  that 
the  hollow  was  illumined,  then  came 
out  and  rejoined  his  friends  by  the  aid 
of  his  lasso. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  them,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  that  ?" 

"  We  shall  be  famous  there,"  the 
monk  answered. 

Without  further  hesitation  he  slipped 
into  the  tree  and  disappeared  in  the 
grotto. 

Suiter  followed  his  example,  but  re 
main  t-d  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree  to 
help  his  sister  down. 

The  maiden  appeared  no  longer  con 
scious  of  what  was  going  on  around 
her.  Kind  and  docile  as  ever,  she  acted 
with  automatic  precision,  not  trying  to 
understand  why  she  did  one  thing  more 
than  another  ;  her  father's  words  had 
struck  her  heart,  and  broken  every 
spring  of  her  will.  When  her  father 
let  her  down  the  tree,  she  mechanically 
followed  her  brother  into  the  cave. 

When  left  alone,  the  squatter  re 
moved  with  minute  care  any  traces 
which  might  have  revealed  to  his  ene 
mies'  sharp  eyes  the  direction  in  which 
he  had  gone ;  and  when  he  felt  certain 
that  nothing  would  denounce  him,  he 
entered  the  cave  in  his  turn. 

The  bandits'  first  care  was  to  inspect 
their  domain,  and  they  found  it  was  im 
mense. 

The  cavern  ran  for  a  considerable 
distance  under  the  mountain ;  it  was 
divided  into  several  branches  and  floors, 
some  of  which  ran  up  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  while  others  buried  them 
selves  in  the  ground ;  a  subterranean 


lake,  the  reservoir  of  some  nameless 
river,  extended  for  an  immense  distance 
under  a  low  arch,  all  black  with  bats. 

The  cavern  had  several  issues  in  dia 
metrically  opposite  directions;  and 
they  were  so  well  hidden,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  notice  them  outside. 

Only  one  thing  alarmed  the  adven 
turers,  and  that  was  the  chances  of  pro 
curing  food  ;  but  to  that  Red  Cedar  re 
plied  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to 
set  traps,  or  even  hunt  on  the  moun 
tain. 

Ellen  had  fallen  into  a  broken  sleep 
on  a  bed  of  furs  her  father  had  hastily 
prepared  for  her.  The  wretched  girl 
had  so  suffered  and  endured  such  fatigue 
during  the  last  few  days,  that  she  lite 
rally  could  not  stand  on  her  feet. 

When  the  three  men  had  inspected 
the  cave,  they  returned  and  sat  down 
by  her  side. 

Red  Cedar  looked  at  her  sleeping  with 
an  expression  of  infinite  tenderness  ;  he 
was  too  fond  of  his  daughter  not  to  pity 
her,  and  think  with  grief  of  the  fearful 
destiny  that  awaited  her  by  his  side  ; 
unhappily,  any  remedy  was  impossible. 

Fray  Ambrosio,  whose  mind  was  al 
ways  busy,  drew  the  squatter  from  his 
reverie. 

"  Well,  gossip,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose 
we  are  condemned  to  spend  some  time 
here  ?" 

"  Until  our  pursuers,  tired  of  seeking 
us  in  vain,  at  length  determine  to  go 
off." 

"  They  may  be  long  ;  hence,  for  the 
greater  secrecy,  I  propose  one  thing." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  There  are  blocks  of  stone  here 
which  time  has  detached  from  the  roof; 
before  we  go  to  sleep,  I  propose  that  we 
roll  three  or  four  of  the  largest  into 
the  hole  by  which  we  entered." 

"  Why  so  V  the  squatter  asked  ab 
ruptly. 

"  In  our  present  position  two  precau 
tions  are  better  than  one;  the  Indians 
are  such  cunning  demons,  that  they  are 
capable  of  coming  down  the  tree." 

"  The  padre  is  right,  old  one,"  Sut 
ter,  who  was  half  asleep,  said  ;  "  it  is 
no  great  task  to  roll  the  stones  ;  but  ill 
that  way  we  shall  be  easy  in  our 
minds." 


THE     TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


159 


"Do  what  you  like,"  the  squatter 
answered,  still  continuing  to  gaze  on  his 
daughter. 

The  two  men,  with  their  leader's  ap 
proval,  rose  to  carry  on  their  plan, 
and  half  an  hour  later  the  hole  was  so 
artistically  closed  up,  that  no  one  would 
have  suspected  it  had  he  not  known  it 
before. 

"  Now  we  can  sleep,  at  any  rate," 
said  Fray  Ambrosio. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE    CASKET. 

IK  spite  of  the  start  White  Gazelle 
had,  Don  Pablo  caught  up  to  her  before 
she  had  gone  two  leagues  from  c:imp. 
On  hearing  a  horse  galloping  behind 
her,  the  girl  turned,  and  one  glance  was 
sufficient  for  her  to  recognize  the  Mexi 
can. 

At  the  sight  of  him  a  feverish  flush 
suffused  her  face,  a  convulsive  tremor 
fell  upor.  her,  and,  in  short,  the  emotion 
she  felt  was  so  powerful,  that  she  was 
compelled  to  stop.  Still,  ashamed  of 
letting  the  man  she  hopelessly  loved 
see  the  impression  the  sight  of  him 
produced  on  her,  she  made  a  supreme 
effort,  and  managed  to  assume  a  look 
of  indifference,  while  thoughts  crowded 
her  brain. 

"What  is  he  going  to  do  here1? 
where  is  he  going  ?  We  shall  see,"  she 
added  to  herself. 

She  waited,  and  Don  Pablo  soon 
found  her. 

The  young  man,  suffering  from  ex 
treme  nervous  excitement,  was  in  the 
worst  possible  mood  to  act  diplomati 
cally.  On  reaching  the  White  Gazelle 
he  bowed,  and  continued  his  journey 
without  speaking  to  her. 

White  Gazelle  shook  her  head. 

"  I  know  how  to  make  him  speak," 
she  said. 

Hitting  her  horse  sharply  with  her 
chicote,  she  started  at  a  gallop,  and 
kept  by  Don  Pablo's  side. 

The  two  riders  went  on  thus  for  some 
time  without  exchanging  a  syllable. 
Each  of  them  seemed  afraid  of  opening 


the  conversation,  feeling  in  what  direc 
tion  it  must  turn.  Still  galloping  side 
by  side,  they  at  length  reached  a  spot 
where  two  paths  forked. 

White  Gazelle  checked  her  horse,  and 
stretched  out  her  arm  in  a  northerly 
direction. 

"  I  am  going  there,"  she  said. 

"  So  am  I,"  Don  Pablo  remarked, 
without  hesitation.  » 

The  young  woman  looked  at  him  with 
a  surprise  too  natural  not  to  be  feigned. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  then  ]"  she 
went  on. 

"  Where  you  are,"  he  said  again. 

"  But  I  am  going  to  Bloodson's 
camp." 

"  Well,  so  am  I ;  what  is  there  so 
amazing  in  that  ?" 

"  Nothing ;  how  does  it  concern  me  ?" 
she  said  with  a  significant  pout. 

"  You  will,  therefore,  permit  me, 
Nina,  to  accompany  you  to  your  destin 
ation." 

"  1  cannot  and  will  not  prevent  you 
from  following  me;  the  road  is  free, 
caballero,"  she  drily  replied. 

Tiiey  were  silent  as  if  by  common 
agreement,  and  were  absorbed  in 
thought. 

White  Gazelle  gave  her  companion 
one  of  those  bright  womanly  glances 
that  read  to  the  bottom  of  the  heart ;  a 
smile  played  round  her  cherry  lips,  and 
she  shook  her  head  maliciously.  Singu 
lar  thoughts  doubtless  fermented  in  her 
head. 

At  about  two  of  the  tarde,  as  they 
say  in  Spanish  countries,  they  reached 
a  ford  on  a  small  river,  on  the  other 
side  of  which  the  huts  of  Bloodson's 
camp  could  be  seen  at  a  distance  of 
about  two  leagues. 

White  Gazelle  halted,  and  at  the  mo 
ment  her  companion  was  about  to  take 
to  the  water,  she  laid  her  little  hand  on 
his  bridle,  and  checked  him,  saying,  in 
a  soft  but  firm  voice  : 

"  Before  we  go  further,  a  word  if  you 
please,  caballero." 

Don  Pablo  looked  at  her  in  surprise, 
but  made  no  attempt  to  remove  the 
obstacle. 

"  I  am  listening  to  you,  senorita,"  he 
said,  with  a  bow. 


160 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  I  know  why  you  are  going  to  Blood 
son's  camp,"  she  continued. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  he  said,  with  a  shake 
of  the  head. 

"  Boy !  this  morning,  when  I  wa: 
talking  with  Don  Valentine,  you  were 
lying  at  our  feet." 

"  I  was." 

"  If  your  eyes  were  shut,  your  ear 
were  open."  . 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  That  you  heard  our  conversation." 

"  Suppose  I  did,  what  do  you  con 
clude  from  that?" 

"  You  are  going  to  the  camp  to  coun 
teract  my  plans,  and  make  them  fail,  if 
possible." 

.  The  young  man  started  and  looked 
disappointed  at  being  so  truly  judged. 

"  Senorita,"  he  said,  with  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  Do  not  deny  it,"  she  said  kindly ; 
"  It  would  be  useless,  for  I  know  all." 

"All!'' 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more  than 
you  know  yourself." 

The  Mexican  was  amazed. 

"  Let  us  play  fairly,"  she  continued. 
%"  I  ask  nothing    better,"  he  replied, 
not  knowing  what  he  said. 

"  You  love  the  squatter's  daughter  ?" 
she  said  distinctly. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  wish  to  save  her  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  will  help  you." 

There  was  a  silence ;  these  few  words 
had  been  interchanged  by  the  speakers 
with  feverish  rapidity. 

"You  are  not  deceiving  me?"  Don 
Pablo  asked,  timidly. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  frankly,  "  what 
good  would  it  do  me  ?  You  have  given 
her  your  heart,  and  a  man  cannot  love 
really  twice ;  I  will  help  you,  I  say." 

The  young  man  gazed  at  her  with 
surprise  mingled  with  terror.  He  re 
membered  what  an  implacable  foe 
White  Gazelle  had  been  to  poor  Ellen 
only  a  few  months  back,  and  suspected 
a  snare.  She  guessed  it,  and  a  sorrow 
ful  smile  played  round  her  lips. 

"  Love  is  no  longer  permitted  me," 
she  said  ;  "  my  heart  is  not  even  capa 
cious  enough  for  the  hatred  that  devours 
it.  I  live  only  for  vengeance.  Believe 


me,  Don  Pablo,  I  will  treat  you  honor 
ably.  When  you  are  at  length  happy, 
and  indebted  to  me  for  a  small  portion 
of  the  happiness  you  enjoy,  perhaps 
you  will  feel  a  little  friendship  and  gra 
titude  for  me.  Alas  !  it  is  the  only 
feeling  I  desire  now ;  I  am  one  of  those 
wretched,  condemned  creatures,  who 
hurled  involuntarily  into  an  abyss,  can 
not  check  their  downward  progress. 
Pity  me,  Don  Pablo,  but  dismiss  all 
fear ;  for,  I  repeat  to  you,  you  have 
not  and  never  will  have  a  more  devoted 
friend  than  myself." 

The  girl  pronounced  these  words 
with  such  an  accent  of  sincerity,  it  was 
so  plain  that  the  heart  alone  spoke,  and 
that  the  sacrifice  was  consummated 
without  any  after-thought,  that  Don 
Pablo  felt  affected  by  such  abnegation. 
By  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  offered 
her  his  hand  ;  she  pressed  it  warmly, 
wiped  away  a  tear,  and  then  banished 
every  trace  of  emotion. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  not  a  word 
more  :  we  understand  one  another,  I 
think?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered,  gladly. 

"  Let  us  cross  the  stream,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  in  half-an-hour  we  shall 
reach  the  camp ;  no  one  must  know 
what  has  passed  between  us." 

They  soon  reached  Bloodson's  camp, 
where  they  wei*e  received  with  shouts 
of  pleasure  and  welcome ;  they  gallop 
ed  through  it  and  stopped  before  the 
ranger's  hut,  who  had  come  out,  arous- 
d  by  the  shouts,  and  was  awaiting. 

The  reception  was  cordial,  and  after 

the    first  compliments,    White   Gazelle 

xplained  to  her  uncle  the  result  of  her 

mission  and  what  had  occurred  in  Uni- 

orn's  camp  while  she  was  there. 

"That  Red  Cedar  is  a  perfect  de 
mon,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  alone  have  the 
ueans  in  my  hands  to  capture  him." 

"  In  what  way  ?"  Don  Pablo  asked. 

"  You  shall  see,"  he  said. 

Without  further  explanation,  he 
raised  a  silver  whistle  to  his  lips,  and 
)lew  a  clear  and  long  note. 
-At  this  summons,  the  buffalo-hide 
curtain  of  the  hut  was  raised  from 
without,  and  a  man  appeared,  in  whom 
Don  Pablo  recognized  Andres  Garote. 

The    gambusino    bowed    with    that 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


161 


politeness  peculiar  to  Mexicans,  and 
fixed  his  small  grey  and  intelligent  eyes 
on  Bloodson. 

"  Master  Garote,"  the  latter  said, 
turning  to  him,  "  1  have  called  you,  be 
cause  I  want  to  speak  seriously  with 
you." 

"  I  am  at  your  Excellency's  orders," 
he  answered. 

"  You  doubtless  remember,"  Blood- 
son  went  on,  "  the  compact  you  made 
•when  I  admitted  you  into  my  cuadril- 
la?" 

Andres  bowed  his  affirmative. 

"  I  remember  it,"  he  said. 

"  Very  good.  Are  you  still  angry 
with  Red  Cedar  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  with  Red  Cedar,  Ex 
cellency  ;  personally  he  never  did  me 
much  harm." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  you  still  have,  I 
suppose,  the  desire  to  avenge  yourself 
on  Fray  Ambrosio  V 

A  flash  of  hatred  shot  from  the  Gam- 
busino's  eye. 

"  I  would   give  my  life  to  have  his." 

"  Good  !  I  like  to  find  you  feel  in 
that  way  ;  your  desire  will  soon  be 
satisfied,  if  you  are  willing." 

"  If  I  am  willing,  Excellency  !"  the 
ranchero  exclaimed,  hotly.  "Canaries, 
tell  me  what  I  must  do  for  that,  and,  on 
my  soul,  I  will  do  it.  I  assure  you  I 
will  not  hesitate." 

Bloodson  concealed  a  smile  of  satis 
faction. 

"  Red  Cedar,  Fray  Ambrosio,  and 
their  comrades,"  he  said,  "  are  hidden  a 
few  miles  from  here  in  the  mountains  ; 
you  will  go  there." 

"  I  will." 

,  "  Wait  a  minute.  You  will  join 
them  in  some  way,  gain  their  confi 
dences,  and  when  you  have  obtained 
this  necessary  information,  you  will  re 
turn  here,  so  that  we  may  crush  this 
brood  of  vipers." 

The  gambusino  reflected  for  a  mo 
ment. 

Bloodson  fancied  he  was  unwilling. 

"  What,  you  hesitate  !"  he  said. 

"  I  hesitate !"  the  ranchero  exclaim 
ed,  shaking  his  head  with  a  peculiar 
smile.  "  No,  no,  Excellency,  I  was 
merely  reflecting." 

"  What  abouU" 


"I  will  tell  you:  the  mission  you 
give  me  is  one  of  life  and  death.  If  I' 
tail,  I  know  what  I  have  to  expect :  Red 
Cedar  will  kill  me  like  a  dog." 

"  Very  probably." 

"  He  will  be  right  in  doing  so,  and  I 
shall  be  unable  to  reproach  him ;  but, 
when  I  am  dead,  I  do  not  wish  that  vil 
lain  to  escape." 

"  Trust  to  my  word.'' 

The  gambusino's  foxy  face  assumed 
an  extraordinary  expression  of  cunning. 

"  I  do  trust  to  it,  Excellency,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  you  have  very  serious  busi 
ness  that  occupies  nearly  all  your  time, 
and  perhaps,  without  desiring  it,  you 
might  forget  me." 

"  You  need  not  fear  that." 

"  We  can  answer  for  nothing,  Excel 
lency  ;  there  are  very  strange  circum 
stances  in  life." 

"What  do  you  want  to  arrive  at? 
come,  explain  yourself  frankly." 

Andres  Garote  lifted  his  zarape,  and 
took  from  under  it  a  little  steel  box, 
which  he  placed  on  the  table  near  which 
Bloodson  was  sitting. 

"  Here,  Excellency,"  he  said,  in  that 
soft  voice  which  never  left  him  ;  "  take 
that  casket ;  so  soon  as  I  am  gone,  break 
open  the  lock,  I  am  certain  you  will  find 
it  contains  papers  that  will  interest 
you." 

"  What    do   these   words   mean  ?" 
Bloodson  asked  anxiously. 

"  You  will  see,"  the  gambusino  re 
plied,  quite  unmoved  ;  "  in  that  way,  if 
you  forget  me,  you  will  not  forget  your 
self,  and  1  shall  profit  by  your  venge 
ance." 

"  Do  you  know  the  contents  of  these 
papers,  then?" 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Excellency,  that  I 
have  had  that  coffer  in  my  possession 
for  six  months,  without  discovering  its 
contents  ?  No,  no,  I  like  to  know  what 
I  have  got.  You  will  find  it  interest 
ing,  Excellency." 

"  But  if  that  be  the  case,  why  did 
you  not  give  me  the  papers  sooner?" 

"  Because  the  hour  had  not  arrived  to 
do  so,  Excellency  ;  I  awaited  the  op 
portunity  that  offers  to-day.  The  man 
who  wishes  to  avenge  himself  must  be 
patient.  You  know  the  proverb  :  '  Ven- 


162 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


geance  is  a  fruit  that  must  be  eaten 
ripe.'  " 

While  the  gambusino  was  saying  this, 
Bloodson  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
casket. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  asked  him, 
when  he  ceased  speaking. 

"  Directly,  Excellency  ;  but  if  you 
permit  it,  we  will  make  a  slight  altera 
tion  in  the  instruction  you  have  given 
me." 

"  Speak." 

"  It  strikes  me  that,  if  I  am  obliged 
to  return  here,  we  shall  lose  precious 
time  in  coining  and  going1 :  which  time 
Red  Cedar,  whose  suspicions  will  be 
aroused,  may  profit  by  to  decamp." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  what  is  to  be 
done  V 

"  Oh,  it  is  very  simple.  When  the 
moment  arrives  to  spread  our  nets,  I 
will  light  a  fire  on  the  mountain;  which 
will  serve  as  a  signal  to  you  to  start  at 
once  ;  still,  there  would  be  no  harm  if 
some  one  accompanied  me,  and  remain 
ed  hidden  ne;ir  the  spot  where  I  am 
going." 

"  It  shall  be  done  as  you  wish," 
White  Gazelle  answered :  "  two  per 
sons  will  accompany  vou  in  lieu  of 
one." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate  and  myself 
intend  to  go  with  you,"  she  continued, 
giving  the  young  man  a  glance  he  un 
derstood. 

"  Then  all  is  for  the  best,"  the  gam 
busino  said,  "  and  we  will  start  when 
you  like." 

"  At  once,  at  once,"  the  two  young 
people  exclaimed. 

"  Our  horses  are  not  tired,  and  can 
easily  cover  that  distance,"  Don  Pablo 
remarked. 

"  Make  haste,  then,  for  moments  are 
precious,"  said  Bloodson,  who  burned 
to  be  alone. 

"I  only  crave  a  few  moments  to 
saddle  my  horse." 

"  Go,  we  will  wait  for  you  here." 

The  gambusino  went  out. 

The  three  persons  remained  in  silence, 
all  equally  perplexed  about  the  casket, 
on  which  Bloodson  had  laid  his  hand  as 
if  afraid  of  having  it  torn  from  him 
again. 


Very  shortly,  a  horse  was  heard  gal 
loping  outside,  and  Garote  put  his  head 
in  at  the  door. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  said. 

White  Gazelle  and  Don  Pablo  rose. 

"  Let  us  go  !"  they  shouted  as  they 
ran  to  the  door. 

"  I  wish  you  luck  1"  Bloodson  said 
to  them. 

"  Excellency,  do  not  forget  the  cof 
fer,"  the  gambusino  said  with  a  grin  ; 
"  you  will  find  the  contents  most  inter 
esting  to  you." 

So  soon  as  the  ranger  was  alone,  he 
rose,  carefully  fastened  the  door,  not  to 
be  disturbed  in  the  examination  he  was 
about  to  make,  and  then  sat  down  again, 
after  selecting  from  a  small  deerskin 
pouch  some  hooks  of  different  size. 

He  then  took  the  coffer,  and  careful 
ly  examined  it  all  over.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  about  it :  it  was, 
as  we  have  said  elsewhere,  a  light  cas 
ket  of  carved  steel,  made  with  the  most 
exquisite  taste  —  a  pretty  toy,  in  a 
word. 

In  spite  of  his  desire  to  know  its 
contents,  the  ranger  hesitated  to  open 
it ;  this  pretty  little  toy  caused  him  an 
emotion  for  which  he  could  not  account: 
he  fancied  he  had  seen  it  before,  but  he 
racked  his  brains  in  vain  to  try  and  re 
member  where. 

"  Oh  !"  he  said,  speaking  to  himself 
in  a  low  hoarse  voice ;  "  can  I  be  ap 
proaching  the  consummation  of  the  ob 
ject  to  which  I  have  devoted  my  life !" 

He  fell  into  a  profound  reverie,  and 
remained  for  a  lengthened  period  ab 
sorbed  in  a  flood  of  bitter  memories, 
that  oppressed  his  breast.  At  length 
he  raised  his  head,  shook  back  his 
thick  hair,  and  passed  his  hand  over  his 
forehead. 

"  No  more  hesitation,"  he  said, 
hoarsely,  "  let  me  know  what  I  have  to 
depend  on.  Something  tells  me  that 
my  researches  will  this  time  be  crown 
ed  with  success." 

He  then  seized  one  of  the  hooks  with 
a  trembling  hand,  and  put  it  in  the  lock; 
but  his  emotion  was  so  great  that  he 
could  not  make  the  instrument  act,  and 
he  threw  it  angrily  from  him. 

"  Am  I  a  child,  then  ?"  he  said  ;  "  I 
will  be  calm." 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


163 


He  took  the  hook  up  again  with  a 
firm  hand,  and  the  casket  opened. 

Blcodson  looked  eagerly  into  the  in 
terior  ;  it  only  contained  two  letters, 
which  time  had  turned  yellow.  At  the 
sight  of  them,  a  livid  pallor  covered  the 
ranger's  face.  He  evidently  recognized 
the  handwriting  at  the  first  glance. 

He  uttered  a  howl  of  joy,  and'  seized 
the  letters,  say  ing,  in  a  voice  that  had 
nothing  human  about  it : 

"  Here,  then,  are  the  proofs  I  believed 
to  be  destroyed  !" 

He  unfolded  the  paper  with  the  most 
minute  precautions,  for  fear  of  tearing 
the  creases,  and  bfgan  reading.  Ere 
long,  a  sigh  of  relief  burst  from  his 
overladen  bosom. 

."  Ah  !"  he  uttered,  "  Heaven  has  at 
length  delivered  you  to  me,  my  masters; 
we  will  settle  our  accounts." 

He  replaced  the  letters  in  the  casket, 
closed  it  again,  and  carefully  hid  it  in 
his  bosom. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

SMOKE     IN     THE     MOUNTAIN. 

THK  three  adventurers  rapidly  left 
Bloodson's  camp,  and  proceeded  in  the 
direction  of  the  mountains,  galloping 
silently  side  by  side. 

They  had  a  foreboding  that  the  finale 
of  this  terrible  drama  was  approaching, 
and  involuntarily  their  thoughts  were 
sad. 

Man  is  so  constituted  that  the  feeling 
which  has  most  power  over  him  is  sad 
ness  ;  human  organization  is  formed  for 
struggling,  and  joy  is  only  an  anomaly  ; 
built  to  resist  the  hardest  trials,  the 
strongest  man  is  frequently  the  one  who 
yields  most  easily  to  great  joy  ;  hence, 
strange  to  say  nothing  more  resembles 
happiness  than  sorrow  ;  the  symptoms 
are  so  completely  the  same,  that  a  great 
joy  annihilates  the  faculties  almost  as 
a>  much  as  a  great  sorrow  does. 

At  this  moment,  the  three  persons  we 
are  following  were  under  the  weight  of 
an  emotion  such  as  we  have  described. 
At  the  instant  when  they  expected  the 
hopes  they  had  so  long  entertained 
10 


would  be  fulfilled,  they  felt  an  emotion 
which  completely  mastered  them,  and 
for  which  they  could  not  account. 

They  were  about  to  play  for  a  decisive 
stake.  Ever  since  they  had  been  con 
tending  with  this  rude  adversary,  they 
had  ever  found  him  standing  in  the 
track,  returning  them  trick  for  trick, 
and  although  cruelly  wounded,  constant 
ly  retaining  the  victory. 

This  time  luck  had  turned  ;  Heaven 
itself  seemed  to  have  interposed  to  make 
justice  triumph,  and  the  bandit,  driven 
to  his  last  entrenchments,  was  expect 
ing  them  to  be  forced  at  any  moment. 

Still  they  did  not  conceal  from  them 
selves  the  difficulties  of  this  final  strug 
gle,  in  which  the  squatter  would  escape 
the  fate  reserved  him  by  death,  unless 
they  managed  to  deceive  him  by  trick 
ery. 

In  such  a  state  of  mind,  we  may 
easily  suppose  that  they  said  nothing, 
and  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
without  exchanging  a  syllable. 

Here  they  stopped. 

"  Cabal leros,"  the  gambusino  said, 
"  before  going  further,  we  shall  not  do 
badly,  1  fancy,  by  making  some  indis 
pensable  arrangements." 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  friend  ?" 
Don  Pablo  asked. 

"  We  are  going  to  enter  regions," 
Andres  replied,  "  where  our  horses  will 
become  more  injurious  than  useful  ;  in 
the  mountains  a  footman  passes  any 
where,  a  horseman  nowhere." 

"  That  is  true ;  let  us  leave  our 
horses  here,  then ;  the  noble  brutes 
will  not  stray  beyond  the  spot  where 
they  can  find  provender.  When  we  re 
quire  them,  we  sh:ill  be  sure  to  find 
them  again,  with  a  little  search." 

"  Is  that  the  senorita's  opinion  also  ?' 
the  gambusino  asked  respectfully. 

"  Quite,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  let  us  dismount,  remove  sad 
dle  and  bridle,  and  leave  them  to  their 
instinct." 

They  removed  everything  that  could 
trouble  the  horses,  and  then  drove  them 
away. 

The  intelligent  animals,  accustomed 
to  this,  only  went  a  few  yards,  and  be 
gan  quietly  nibbling  the  thick  prairie- 
grass. 


164 


TilE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"That  is  all  right,"  the  gambusino 
said  :  "  now  let  us  think  of  ourselves." 

"  But  the  harness,"  White  Gazelle 
remarked ;  "  the  moment  will  come 
when  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  it  ready 
to  hand." 

"  Perfectly  true,"  said  Andres  ;  "  so 
we  will  put  it  in  a  safe  place;  for  in 
stance,  this  hollow  tree  will  form  a 
famous  store-room." 

"  Caramba  !  that  is  an  original  idea," 
Don  Pablo  said,  "  and  deserves  being 
followed." 

The  three  saddles  were  placed  in  the 
tree,  and  so  covered  with  dead  leaves, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  suspect 
their  presence. 

"Now,"  said  White  Gazelle,  "let 
us  look  after  a  place  to  bivouac  :  the 
nights  are  cold  at  this  season,  especially 
in  tlie  mountains  ;  day  is  rapidly  de 
parting,  and  we  shall  soon  be  in  dark 
ness." 

Our  three  scouts  had  left  the  camp 
at  a  rather  late  hour :  hence,  while 
they  were  unsaddling  their  horses,  and 
hiding  the  harness,  the  sun  had  gradu 
ally  sunk  down  beneath  the  horizon  : 
the  short  period  of  twilight  had  begun, 
during  which  day  finishes,  and  night 
begins,  in  which  darkness  and  light, 
struggling  desperately  together,  spread 
over  the  landscape  a  mixed  haze, 
througt.  which  objects  are  regarded  as 
through  a  prism. 

They  must  profit  by  this  moment  to 
look  about  them,  so  that  they  might  run 
no  risk  of  losing  themselves  so  soon  as 
darkness  had  gained  the  victory.  They 
did  so,  therefore:  after  carefully  noting 
the  position  of  the  different  peaks, 
they  boldly  set  out.  They  walked  for 
nearly  an  hour  up  an  ascent  constantly 
becoming  steeper,  and  then  reached  a 
species  of  narrow  platform,  where  they 
halted  for  a  moment ;  in  the  first  place 
to  take  breath,  and  then  to  consult 
about  their  further  operations. 

"Suppose  we  sleep  here?"  White 
Gazelle  said.  "  The  perpendicular  rock 
behind  us  offers  a  famous  shelter  from 
the  wind,  and,  wrapped  up  in  our  zara- 
pes  and  buffalo  robes,  I  feel  convinced 
we  should  be  quite  comfortable." 
"  Patience,  Nina,"  the  gambusiuo 


said,  sententiously,  "  we  must  not  talk 
about  sleeping  at  present." 

"  Why  not?"  she  said,  sharply  ;  "  for 
my  part,  1  may  tell  you  1  can  sleep 
famously  here." 

"Possibly  so,  Nina,"  Andres  con 
tinued  ;  "  but  we  have  something  else 
to  do  at  present." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  Look  about  us." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  mad,  my  friend. 
It  is  as  black  as  in  an  oven.  The  demon 
himself,  though  so  used  to  darkness, 
would  tread  on  his  tail." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  ;  let  us  take 
advantage  of  the  moon  not  having  yet 
risen,  to  explore  the  neighborhood." 

"  1  do  not  understand  you." 

"See  how  transparent  the  atmos 
phere  is  ;  the  vacillating  and  dubious 
light  of  the  stars  is  sufficient  to  let  ob 
jects  be  distinguished  at  an  enormous 
distance.  If  the  men  we  are  pursuing, 
eat,  which  is  probable,  this  is  just  the 
hour  they  would  select  to  cook  their 
food." 

"  Well  ?"  Don  Pablo  asked,  curiously. 

"  Follow  my  argument  closely  ;  Red 
Cedar  can  only  expect  enemies  from 
the  side  of^  the  plain.'1 

"  That  is  true." 

"  Hence  his  precautions  are  taken  on 
that  side,  and  not  here  ;  he  does  not 
suspect  us  so  near  him,  and,  persuaded 
that  no  one  is  spying  him,  he  will  Jet 
the  smoke  of  his  fire  rise  peacefully  to 
the  sky  in  the  shade  of  night,  convinced 
that  nobody  will  perceive  it,  which 
would  be  perfectly  true,  if,  unfortunate 
ly  for  him,  we  were  not  here.  Such  is 
the  reason  why  I  urged  you  to  enter 
the  mountains,  in  spite  of  the  advanced 
hour." 

White  Gazelle  and  Don  Pablo  were 
struck  by  the  correctness  of  this  reason 
ing. 

They  began,  in  consequence,  to  form 
a  better  opinion  of  their  guide,  and  ta 
citly  recognize  in  him  that  superiority 
which  a  man  who  is  thoroughly  acquaint 
ed  with  a  thing,  always  acquires  at  a 
given  moment. 

"  Do  as  you  think  proper,"  Don 
Pablo  said  to  him. 

"  We  are  quite*of  your  opinion,"  the 
girl  added. 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


165 


The  gambusino  displayed  no  pride  or 
fatuity  at  this  acknowledgement  of  the 
justice  of  his  argument;  he  contented 
himself  with  recommending  his  com 
panions  not  to  leave  the  spot  where 
they  were  till  his  return,  and  then  vrent 
off. 

When  he  was  alone,  instead  of  walk 
ing  as  he  had  hitherto  done,  the  gam 
busino  lay  down  and  began  crawling 
slowly  along-  the  rocks,  stopping  ev 
ery  now  and  then  to  raise  his  head,  look 
around  him  and  listen  to  the  thousand 
sounds  of  the  desert. 

At  the  expiration  of  about  two  hours 
he  returned. 

"  Well  V  Don  Pablo  asked  him. 

"  Come  !"  the  garnbusino  laconically 
answered. 

They  followed,  and  he  led  them  by  a 
most  abrupt  path,  where  they  were  for 
ced  to  crawl  on  their  hands  and  knees, 
to  escape  falling  over  the  precipices. 

After  a  lengthened  ascent,  made  with 
extraordinary  difficulty,  the  gambusino 
stood  up,  making  his  companions  a  sign 
to  follow  his  example.  They  did  not 
let  the  invitation  be  repeated,  for  they 
were  completely  worn  out. 

They  found  themselves  on  a  plat 
form  like  the  one  they  had  previously 
left ;  this  platform,  like  the  other,  was 
commanded  by  an  immense  rock,  but 
this  rock  had  an  enormous  orifice  like 
the  entrance  of  an  oven,  and,  strange 
enough,  at  the  end  of  this  orifice  glit 
tered  a  light  about  the  size  of  a  star. 

"  Look  !"  said  the  gambusino. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  what  is  that?"  Don  Pablo 
asked  in  surprize. 

"  Can  we  have  found  what  we  are 
looking  for?"  White  Gazelle  exclaimed, 
as  she  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Silence,"  Andres  Garote  whisper 
ed,  as  he  placed  his  hand  on  her  mouth  ; 
"  we  are  at  the  entrance  of  a  cavern, 
and  these  subterraneous  passages  are 
excellent  sound-conductors  ;  Red  Cedar 
has  a  fine  ear,  and  though  he  is  so  far 
from  you  at  this  moment,  you  must 
fear  his  overhearing  you." 

They  gazed  for  a  long  time  at  this 
flickering  light;  at  times  a  shadow  pass 
ed  before  this  star,  and  its  brilliancy 
was  eclipsed  for  some  minutes. 

The  gambusino,  when  he  judged  that 


their  curiosity  was  satisfied,  touched 
them  on  the  arm,  and  led  them  gently 
away. 

"  Come,"  he  said  to  them. 

They  began  ascending  again.  At  the 
end  of  about  half  an  hour  he  made  them 
stop  a  second  time,  and  stretched  out  his 
arm. 

"  Look  attentively,"  he  said  to  them. 

"  Oh,"  Don  Pablo  said,  at  the  end 
of  a  minute,  "  smoke." 

In  fact  a  slight  jet  of  white  smoke 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  ground,  and 
rose  in  a  thin  and  transparent  spiral  to 
the  sky. 

"  There  is  no  smoke  without  fire,"  the 
gambusino  said,  with  a  grin  ;  "  1  show 
ed  you  the  fire  first,  now  there  is  the 
smoke.  Are  you  convinced  ?  Have 
we  found  the  tiger's  lair?" 

"  Yes,"  they  said  together. 

"  That  is  better  than  sleeping,  eh  ?"  he 
went  on,  with  a  slightly  triumphant  ac 
cent. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?"  White 
Gazzelle  quickly  interupted  him. 

"  Oh,  good  gracious  !  a  very  simple 
thing,"  Andres  replied  ;  "  one  of  you 
two  will  immediately  return  to  the  camp 
to  announce  our  discovery,  and  the  mas 
ter  will  act  as  he  thinks  proper," 

"  Good  !"  said  the  girl  ;  "  I  will  go." 

"And  you?"  the  gambusino  asked 
Don  Pablo. 

"  I  stay  here." 

Garote  made  no  objection,  and  White 
Gazelle  darted  down  the  mountain  side 
with  feverish  ardor. 

The  gambusino  laid  his  buffalo  robe 
carefully  on  the  ground,  wrapped  him 
self  in  his  zarape,  and  lay  down. 

"  What  are  you  about?"  Don  Pablo 
asked  him. 

"You  see,"  he  replied,  "I  am  prepar 
ing  to  sleep ;  we  have  nothing  more  to 
do  at  present,  and  must  wait  till  to-mor 
row  to  act  ;  I  advise  you  to  follow  my 
example." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  young  man  said  ; 
"  you  are  right." 

And,  rolling  himself  in  his  zarape, 
he  threw  himself  on  the  ground.  An 
hour  passed  away  thus,  and  the  two  men 
slept,  or  pretended  to  sleep. 

Then  Don  Pablo  rose  softly  on  his 
elbow,  and  bent  over  Andres  Garote, 


166 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


whom  he  attentively  observed  ;  he  was 
sleeping  the  calmest  possible  sleep. 

The  young  man,  reassured  by  this, 
rose,  examined  his  weapons,  and  after 
giving  the  sleeper  a  last  glance,  descend 
ed  the  mountain. 

The  moon  had  risen  and  cast  a  light 
over  the  landscape  scarce  sufficient  for 
hirn  to  proceed  without  fear  of  falling 
over  a  precipice. 

The  young  nran,on  reaching  the  low 
er  platform,  on  to  which  the  entrance 
of  the  cavern  opened,  stopped  for  a  mo 
ment,  muttered  a  fervent  prayer,  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  star-studded  sky, 
and  after  once  more  examining  his  wea 
pons  to  feel  sure  they  were  in  good  con 
dition,  he  crossed  himself  and  boldly 
entered  the  cavern. 

Of  a  truth,  he  must  have  been  gifted 
with  ample  stock  of  courage  thus  to 
brave  a  danger  which  was  the  more  ter 
rible,  because  it  was  unknown.  With 
his  eye  fixed  on  the  fire,  which  served 
as  his  polar  star,  Don  Pablo  advanced 
cautiously  with  out-stretched  arms,  stop 
ping  at  intervals  to  account  for  the 
nameless  noises  which  constantly  growl 
in  caverns,  and  ready  to  defend  himself 
against  the  invisible  foes  he  suspected 
in  the  shadow. 

He  went  on  thus  for  a  long  time,  the 
fire  not  appearing  to  grow  larger,  when 
the  granite  on  which  he  rested  his  left 
hand  to  guide  himself  suddenly  left  off, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  passage, 
dirnly  lighted  by  an  expiring  torch  of 
candle-wood,  he  perceived  Ellen  kneel 
ing  on  the  bare  ground,  and  praying 
fervently. 

The  young  man  stopped,  struck  with 
admiration  at  this  unexpected  sight. 

The  maiden,  with  her  hair  untied  and 
floating  in  long  tresses  on  her  shoulders, 
with  pallid  face  bathed  in  tears,  seemed 
to  be  suffering  the  greatest  sorrow. 
Sobs  and  heavy  sighs  were  escaping 
from  her  burdened  bosom. 

Don  Pablo  could  not  resist  the  emo 
tion  that  seized  upon  him.  At  this 
crushing  sight,  forgetting  all  prudence, 
he  rushed  toward  the  maiden  with  open 
arms,  exclaiming,  with  an  accent  of 
supreme  love  : 

"  Ellen,  Ellen,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

At  this  voice,  which  smote  her  ear  so 


unexpectedly,  the  girl  rose,  and  said, 
with  gestures  of  great  m;ijesty  : 

"  Fly,  unhappy  man,  fly,  or  you  are 
lost  !"  ' 

"  Ellen,"  he  repeated,  as  he  fell  on 
his  knees,  and  clasped  his  hands  in  en 
treaty,  "  for  mercy's  sake  hear  me  !" 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?"  she  con 
tinued. 

"  I  have  come  to  save  you,  or  perish 
in  the  attempt.'1 

"  Save  me,"  she  cried,  sadly  ;  "  no, 
Don  Pablo,  my  destiny  is  fixed  forever. 
Leave  me — fly — I  implore  you." 

"No.  I  tell  you  a  terrible  danger 
impends  over  your  father.  He  is 
hopelessly  lost.  Come,  fly  ;  there  is 
yet  time,  Oh,  Ellen,  1  implore  you, 
in  the  name  of  our  love — so  chaste  and 
pure,  follow  me  !'' 

The  maiden  shook  her  head  with  a 
movement  that  set  her  long,  fair  tresses 
waving. 

"  I  am  condemned,  I  tell  you,  Don 
Pablo  ;  remaining  longer  here  will  be 
your  destruction.  You  say  you  love 
me — well,  in  the  name  uf  your  love, 
or,  if  you  insist,  of  mine,  1  implore 
you  to  leave  me,  to  shun  me  forever. 
Oh,  believe  me,  Don  Pablo,  my  touch 
brings  death.  1  am  an  accursed  crea 
ture." 

The  young  man  folded  his  arms  on 
his  chest,  and  raised  his  head  proudly. 

"No,"  he  said  resolutely,  "I  will 
not  go,  1  do  not  wish  for  the  devotion 
to  be  yours  solely.  What  do  I  care 
for  life  if  I  may  never  see  you  again  ? 
Ellen,  we  will  die  together." 

"  Oh,  Heavens,  how  he  loves  me  !" 
she  exclaimed,  in  despair.  "  Oh,  Lord  ! 
Lord  !  have  1  suffered  enough  ?  Is  the 
measure  now  full  ?  Oh,  Lord !  give 
me  the  strength  to  accomplish  my  sa 
crifice  to  the  end.  Listen,  Don  Pablo," 
she  said  to  him,  as  she  caught  hold  of 
his  arm  fiercely,  "  my  father  is  an  out 
law,  the  whole  world  rejects  him  ;  he 
has  only  one  joy,  one  happiness  in  his 
immense  suffering — his  daughter.  I 
cannot,  I  will  not  abandon  him.  What 
ever  love  I  may  feel  for  you  in  my 
heart,  Don  Pablo,  I  will  never  leave 
my  father.  No,  all  is  said  between  us, 
my  love ;  remaining  here  longer  would 
be  usaiessly  braving  a  terrible  and  inev- 


THE    TRAILER'S    DAUGHTER. 


167 


itable  danger.     Go,  Don   Pablo,  go — 
it  must  be  so." 

"  Remember,"  the  young  man  said 
with  a  groan,  "  remember,  Ellen,  that 
this  interview  will  be  the  last." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  You  still  wish  me  to  go  ?" 

"  I  insist  on  it." 

"  Yes,  but  I  do  not  wish  it,"  a  rough 
voice  suddenly  said. 

They  turned  in  terror,  and  perceived 
Red  Cedar  looking  at  them  with  a  grin, 
as  he  leant  on  his  rifle. 

Ellen  gave  her  father  such  a  flashing 
glance,  that  the  old  squatter  involun 
tarily  looked  down  without  replying. 
She  turned  to  Don  Pablo,  and  took  his 
hand. 

"  Come,"  she  said  to  him.  She  walk 
ed  resolutely  toward  her  father,  who 
did  not  stir. 

"  Make  way,"  she  said  boldly. 

"  No,"  the  trapper  answered. 

"  Pay  attention  to  me,  father,"  she 
Continued;  "I  have  sacrificed  for  you 
my  life,  my  happiness,  all  my  hopes  on 
this  earth,  but  on  one  condition,  that 
his  life  shall  be  sacred.  Let  him  go, 
then  ;  I  insist  on  it." 

"  No,"  he  said  again,  "  he  must  die." 

Ellen  burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  whose 
shrill  notes  made  the  two  men  shudder. 
With  a  movement  swift  as  thought,  she 
tore  a  pistol  from  the  squatter's  belt, 
cocked  it,  and  put  t.he  muzzle  to  her 
forehead. 

"  Make  way  !"  she  repeated. 

Red  Cedar  uttered  a  yell  of  terror. 

"  Stup  !"  he  shouted,  as  he  rushed  to 
ward  her. 

"  For  the  last  time,  make  way,  or  I 
kill  myself!" 

"  Oh  !"  he  said  with  an  expression  of 
rage  impossible  to  endure,  "  go,  demon, 
but  I  shall  find  you  again." 

"  Farewell,  my  beloved  !"  Ellen  cried 
passionately  ;  "  farewell  for  the  last 
time  !" 

"  Ellen,"  the  young  man  answered, 
"  we  shall  meet  again  ;  1  will  save  you 
in  spite  of  yourself." 

And  rush  ng  down  the  passage,  he 
disappeared. 

"  And  now,  father,"  the  maiden  said, 
throwing  the  pistol  far  from  her,  when 
the  sound  of  her  lover's  footsteps  died  •. 


away  in  the  distance,  "  do  with  me  what 
you  please." 

"  1  pardon  you,  child,"  Red  Cedar  re 
plied  gnashing  his  teeth,  "  but  I  will 
kill  him." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    BOAR     AT     BAY. 

DON  PABLO  ran  out  of  the  cavern  and 
joined  Andres  Garote  hastily,  who  still 
slept. 

The  young  man  had  some  difficulty  in 
waking  him,  but  at  length  he  opened  his 
eyes,  sat  up,  and  yawned  ;  but  perceiv 
ing  the  stars  slill  shining,  he  said  ill- 
humoredly  : 

"  What  fly  has  stung  you?  let  me 
sleep — day  is  still  far  off." 

"  1  know  that  better  than  you,  for  I 
have  not  lain  down." 

"  Then  you  were  wrong,"  the  other 
said,  yawning  fit  to  dislocate  his  jaw ; 
"  1  am  going  to  sleep,  so  good  night." 

And  he  tried  to  lie  down  again,  but 
the  young  man  prevented  him. 

"  A  pretty  time  for  sleeping,"  he  said 
as  he  dragged  away  the  other's  zarape, 
in  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  wrap  him 
self. 

"  Why,  you  must  be  mad  to  annoy 
me  so,"  he  said  furiously;  "has  any 
thing  fresh  happened?" 

Don  Pablo  told  him  what  he  had 
done. 

The  gambusino  listened  with  the 
most  profound  attention,  and  when  he 
had  finished  scratched  his  head  with  em 
barrassment  as  he  said,  "Demonios  !  that 
is  serious — excessively  serious;  all  lo 
vers  are  madmen.  You  have  spoiled 
our  expedition." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Canelo  !  I  am  sure  of  it;  Red  Ce 
dar  is  an  old  scoundrel,  as  cunning  as 
an  opossum.  Now  that  he  is  put  on 
his  guard,  it  will  take  a  clever  fellow  to 
catch  him." 

Don  Pablo  looked  at  him  in  conster 
nation. 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  he  said. 

"  Be  off",  that  is  the  safest ;  you  can 
understand  that  the  squatter  is  now  ou 
his  <ruard  ?" 


168 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


There  was  rather  a  lengthened  silence 
between  the  two  speakers. 

"  Well  !"  the  gambusino  said,  sud 
denly,  "  I  will  not  be  beat.  I  will 
play  the  old  demon  a  trick  after  my 
fashion." 

"  What  is  your  plan  ?" 

"  That  is  my  business.  If  you  had 
placed  greater  confidence  in  me,  all  this 
would  not  have  happened,  and  we 
should  have  settled  matters,  to  the 
general  satisfaction.  Well,  what  is 
done  cannot  be  undone,  and  I  will  try 
to  repair  vour  fault.  So  now  be  off." 

"  Off— where  to  ?" 

"  To  the  foot  of  the  mountain  ;  but 
do  not  come  up  again  unless  your  com 
rades  are  with  you.  You  will  act  as 
their  guide  to  this  spot." 

"  But  you  ?" 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me. 
Good-bye." 

"  Well,"  the  young  man  said,  "  I 
leave  you  at  liberty  to  act  as  you  think 
proper." 

"  You  ought  to  have  formed  that  re 
solution  sooner.  Ah,  by  the  way,  just 
leave  me  your  hat." 

"  With  great  pleasure  j  but  you  have 
one." 

"  Perhaps  I  want  another.  Ah  !  one 
word  more." 

"  Speak." 

"  It'  by  any  chance  you  should  hear 
a  noise — shots  fired,  say — as  you  are 
going  down  the  mountain,  do  not  alarm 
yourself,  or  come  up  again." 

"  Good — that  is  agreed ;  so  good 
bye." 

After  tossing  his  hat  to  the  gambu- 
sino,  the  young  man  put  his  rifle  on  his 
bhoulder,  and  began  descending  the 
mountain  :  he  speedily  disappeared  in 
the  countless  windings  of  the  path. 

So  soon  as  Andres  Garote  was  alone, 
he  picked  up  Don  Pablo's  hat  and 
threw  it  over  the  precipice,  eagerly 
watching  its  descent. 

After  turning  over  and  over,  the  hat 
touched  a  peak,  rebounded,  and  at 
length  rested  on  the  mountain  side  a 
great  distance  beneath. 

"  Good,"  the  gambusino  said  with 
satisfaction,  "  that  is  all  right  j  now  for 
the  rest." 

Andres  Garote  then  sat  down  on  the 


ground,  took  his  rifle,  and  discharged  it 
in  the  air;  immediately  drawing  one 
of  his  pistols  from  his  belt,  he  stretched 
out  his  left  arm  and  pulled  the  trigger; 
the  ball  went  right  through  the  fleshy 
part. 

"  Cararnba  !"  he  said,  as  he  fell  all 
his  length  on  the  ground,  "  that  pains 
more  than  I  fancied  ;  but  no  matter  ; 
the  great  point  is  to  succeed,  so  now  to 
await  the  result." 

Nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed 
and  nothing  disturbed  the  silence  of  the 
desert. 

Andres,  still  stretched  at  full  length, 
was  groaning  in  a  way  that  would  move 
the  heart  of  the  rocks.  At  length  a 
slight  noise  was  heard  a  short  distance 
off. 

"  Halloh  !"  the  gambusino  muttered, 
cunningly  watching  what  had  happened, 
"  I  fancy  there's  a  bite." 

"  Who  the  deuce  have  we  here?"  a 
rough  voice  said  ;  "  go  and  see,  Sut- 
ter." 

Andres  Garote  opened  his  eyes  and 
recognised  Red  Cedar,  and  his  son. 

"  Ah  !"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  is 
tha,t  you,  old  squatter  1  where  the  deuce 
do  you  come  from  ?  If  I  expected  any 
body,  it  was  certainly  not  you,  though 
1  am  delighted  with  you." 

"  1  know  that  voice,"  exclaimed  Red 
Cedar. 

"  It  is  Andres  Garote,  the  Gambu 
sino,"  Sutler  replied. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  my  good  Sutter,"  the 
Mexican  said.  "  Oh  !  oh  !  how  I  suf 
fer  !" 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  and 
how  did  you  come  here?" 

"  You're  all  right,  I  see,"  the  other 
replied  savagely.  "  Cuerpo  de  Cnsto  ! 
things  have  gone  with  me  from  bad  to 
worse  since  I  left  my  rancho  to  come 
in  this  accursed  prairie." 

"  Will  you  answer  yes  or  no?"  Red 
Cedar  said  angrily,  dashing  his  rifle 
butt  on  the  ground,  and  giving  him  a 
suspicious  glance. 

"  Well,  1  am  wounded,  that  is  easy 
to  see;  i  have  a  bullet  in  my  arm,  and 
am  all  over  bruises.  Santa  Maria, 
how  I  suffer !  but  no  matter,  the 
brigand  who  attacked  me  will  never  iu- 
jure  anybody  again." 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


169 


"  Have  you  killed  him  ?"  the  squat 
ter  asked  eagerly. 

"I  did  my  best;  look  over  the  preci 
pice — you  will  see  his  body." 

Sutler  bent  over. 

"  I  see  a  hat,'''  he  said  directly  after  ; 
"  the  body  cannot  be  far." 

"  Unless  it  has  rolled  to  the  bottom 
of  the  barranca." 

"  That  is  probable,"  Sutter  remark 
ed,  "  for  the  rock  is  almost  perpendi 
cular." 

"Oh,  demonios !  Nuestra  Senora! 
how  I  suffer  !"  the  gambusino  groaned. 

The  squatter  had  in  his  turn  leant 
over  the  precipice  ;  he  recognized  Don 
Pablo's  hat ;  he  g  ive  a  sign  of  satis 
faction,  and  returned  to  Andres. 

"  Come,"  he  said  in  a  gentle  tone, 
"  we  cannot  stop  here  all  night ;  can 
you  walk  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  try." 

"  Try,  then,  in  the  demon's  name." 

The  gambusino  rose  with  infinite 
difficulty  and  tried  to  walk  a  little  way, 
but  fell  back. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said  despondingly. 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Sutter  ;  "  I  will 
take  him  on  my  back,  he  is  not  very 
heavy." 

"  Look  sharp,  then.'' 

The  young  man  stooped,  took  the 
gambusino  in  his  arms,  and  laid  him 
across  his  shoulders  as  easily  as  if  he 
held  been  a  child. 

Ten  minutes  later  Andres  Garote 
was  in  the  cavern  lying  before  the  fire, 
and  Fray  Ambrosio  was  bandaging  up 
his  arm. 

"  Well,  gossip,"  the  monk  said,  "  you 
have  been  very  cleverly  wounded." 

"Why  so?"  the  Mexican  asked  in 
alarm. 

"  Why,  a  wound  in  the  left  arm  will 
not  prevent  your  firing  a  shot  with  us 
uin  case  of  an  alarm." 

"  1  will  do  so,  you  may  be  sure,"  he 
replied,  with  a  singular  accent. 

"  With  all  that,  you  have  not  told 
me  by  what  chance  you  were  on  the 
mountain,"  lied  Cedar  remarked. 

"  It  was  simple ;  since  the  destruc 
tion  and  dispersion  of  our  poor  cuad- 
rilla,  I  have  been  wandering  about  in 
every  direction  like  a  masterless  dog; 
hunted  by  the  Indians  to  take  my  scalp, 


pursued  by  the  whites  to  be  hanged,  as 
forming  part  of  Red  Cedar's  band,  I 
did  not  know  where  to  find  shelter. 
About  three  days  back  chance  brought 
me  to  this  sierra  ;  to-night,  at  the  mo 
ment  I  was  going  to  sleep,  after  eating 
a  mouthful,  a  fellow  whom  the  darkness 
prevented  me  recognizing,  suddenly 
threw  himself  on  me  ;  you  know  the 
rest — but  no  matter,  1  settled  his  little 
score." 

"  Good,  good,"  Red  Cedar  quickly 
interrupted  him,  "  keep  that  to  your 
self;  now,  good  night,  you  must  need 
rest ;  so  sleep,  if  you  can/' 

The  gambusino's  strategem  was  too 
simple  and  at  the  same  time  too  clever 
ly  carried  out,  not  to  succeed.  No  one 
can  suppose  that  an  individual  would 
voluntarily  give  himself  a  serious 
wound,  and  any  suspicions  on  Red  Ce 
dar's  part  were  entirely  dissipated  by 
the  sight  of  Don  Pablo's  hat. 

How  could  he  suppose  that  two  men 
of  such  different  character  and  position 
should  be  working  together?  anything 
was  credible  but  that. 

Hence  the  bandits,  who  recognized  in 
Garote  one  of  themselves,  did  not  at 
all  distrust  him. 

The  worthy  ranchero,  delighted  at 
having  got  into  the  lion's  den,  almost 
certain  of  the  success  of  his  scheme, 
and  too  accustomed  to  wounds  to  care 
much  about  the  one  he  had  given  him 
self  with  such  praiseworthy  dexterity, 
began  again  the  slumber  Don  Pablo 
had  so  roughly  interrupted  and  slept 
till  daybreak. 

When  he  awoke,  Fray  Ambrosio 
was  by  his  side,  preparing  the  morning 
meal. 

"  Well,"  the  monk  asked  him,  "  how 
do  you  feel  now  ?" 

"  Much  better  than  I  should  have 
fancied,"  he  answered ;  "  sleep  has 
done  me  good." 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  wound,  gos 
sip." 

Andres  held  out  his  arm,  which  the 
monk  bandaged  afresh,  and  the  two 
men  went  on  talking  like  friends  de 
lighted  at  meeting  again  after  a  length 
ened  separation. 

All  at  once  Red  Cedar  hurried  up, 
rifle  in  hand. 


170 


TIIE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"Look  out!"  he  shouted,  "here  is 
the  enemy." 

"  The  enemy  !"  the  gnmbusino  said, 
"  Canelo,  where  is  my  rifle?  If  I  can 
not  stand,  I  will  fire  sitting  down  :  it 
sliall  not  be  said  that  I  did  not  help 
my  friends  in  their  trouble.'' 

Sutter  now  rail  up  from  the  other 
side,  shouting  : 

"  Look  out !" 

This  strange  coincidence  of  two  at 
tacks  made  from  opposite  sides  render 
ed  Red  Cedar  thoughtful. 

"  We  are  betrayed,"  he  shouted. 

"By  whom?"  the  gambusino  impu 
dently  asked. 

"  By  you,  perhaps,"  the  squatter  an 
swered  furiously. 

Andres  began  laughing. 

"  You  are  mad,  Red  Cedar,"  he  said  : 
"  danger  has  made  you  lose  your  head. 
You  know  very  well  that  I  have  not 
stirred  from  here." 

The  reasoning  was  unanswerable. 

"  And  yet,  I  would  swear  that  one  of 
us  has  been  the  traitor,"  the  squatter 
continued  passionately. 

"Instead  of  recriminating  as  you  are 
doing,"  Andres  said,  with  an  accent  of 
wounded  dignity,  perfectly  played, 
"  you  would  do  better  to  fly.  You  are 
too  old  a  fox  to  have  only  one  hole  to 
your  earth — all  the  issues  cannot  be  oc 
cupied,  hang  it  all  :  while  you  are  es 
caping,  I,  who  cannot  walk,  will  cover 
the  retreat,  and  you  will  thus  see 
whether  I  was  the  traitor." 

"  You  will  do  that  ?" 

«  I  will." 

"  Then  you  are  a  man,  and  I  restore 
you  my  friendship." 

At  this  moment  the  war-yell  of  the 
Comanches  burst  forth  at  one  of  the 
entrances,  while  at  the  opposite  could 
be  heard  : 

"  Bloodson  !  Bloodson  !" 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste !"  the 
gambusiuo  shouted,  as  he  boldly  seized 
the  rifle  lying  at  his  side. 

"  Oh,  they  have  not  got  me  yet," 
Red  Cedar  replied,  as  he  seized  his 
daughter  in  his  powerful  arms,  who  had 
run  up  at  the  first  alarm,  and  was  now 
pressing  timorously  to  his  side.  The 
three  bandits  then  disappeared  in  the 
depths  of  the  cave. 


Andres  leaped  up  as  if  worked  by  a 
spring,  and  rushed  in  pursuit  of  them, 
followed  by  twenty  Comanche  and 
Apache  warriors  who  had  joined  him,  at 
whose  head  were  Unicorn,  Black  Cat, 
and  Spider. 

They  soon  heard  the  sound  of  firing 
re-echoed  by  the  walls  of  the  cavern  : 
the  fight  had  begun. 

Red  Cedar  had  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Valentine  and  his  comrades, 
while  trying  to  fly  by  an  outlet  he  did 
not  suppose  guarded.  He  fell  back 
hurriedly,  but  he  had  been  seen,  and 
the  firing  immediately  begun. 

A  terrible  combat  was  about  to  take 
place  beneath  the  gloomy  avenues  of 
this  vast  cavern.  These  implacable  en 
emies,  at  last  face  to  face,  had  no  mercy 
to  expect  from  each  other. 

Still  Red  Cedar  did  not  despond  ; 
while  replying  vigorously  to  the  shots 
of  their  adversaries,  he  incessantly  look 
ed  round  him  to  discover  a  fresh  out 
let. 

The  perfect  darkness  that  reigned  in 
the  cavern  aided  the  bandits,  who,  ow 
ing  to  their  small  numbers,  sheltered 
themselves  behind  rocks,  and  thus  avoid 
ed  the  bullets,  while  their  shots,  fired  in 
to  the  compact  mass  of  enemies  press 
ing  round  them,  scarcely  ever  missed 
their  mark. 

All  once  the  squatter  uttered  a  tri 
umphant  yell,  and,  followed  by  his  com 
rades,  disappeared  as  if  by  enchantment. 

The  Indians  and  rangers  then  dispers 
ed  in  pursuit  of  the  bandits,  but  they 
had  vanished  and  left  no  sign. 

"  \Ve  shall  never  find  them  in  this 
way,"  Valentine  shouted,  "  and  we  run 
a  risk  of  hitting  friends  ;  some  of  the 
warriors  will  be  detached  to  cut  us 
torches,  while  we  guard  all  the  outlets." 

"  It  is  unnecessary,"  Curumilla  said, 
coming  up,  loaded  with  candle-wood. 

In  a  second,  the  cavern  was  brilliant 
ly  lit  up,  and  then  the  side  passage  by 
which  Red  Cedar  had  escaped  became 
visible  to  the  astonished  Comanches, 
who  had  passed  it  twenty  times  without 
seeing  it.  They  rushed  in  with  a  yell 
but  there  came  a  discharge,  and  three  of 
them  fell  mortally  wounded.  The  passage 
was  low,  narrow,  and  ascending  ;  it  for 
med  a  species  of  staircase.  It  was,  in 


THE     TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


171 


truth,  a  formidable  position,  for  four 
men  could  with  difficulty  advance  to 
gether. 

Ten  times  the  Comanches  returned 
to  the  charge,  ten  times  they  were  for 
ced  to  fall  back  ;  the  dead  and  wounded 
were  heaped  up  in  the  cave,  and  the  posi 
tion  was  becoming  critical. 

"  Halt  !"  Valentine  shouted. 

All  were  motionless,  and  then  the 
•white  men  and  principal  chiefs  held  a 
council. 

Curumilla  had  left  the  cave  with  a 
dozen  warriors  whom  he  had  made  a 
sign  to  follow  him.  As  happens  unfor 
tunately  only  too  often  in  precarious 
circumstances,  everybody  gave  a  diffe 
rent  opinion,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
come  to  an  understanding  ;  at  this  mo 
ment  Curumilla  appeared,  followed  by 
the  warriors  loaded  like  himself  with 
leaves  and  dry  wood. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  Valentine  said, 
pointing  to  the  chief ;  "Curumilla  has 
had  the  only  sensible  Idea." 

The  others  did  not  understand  yet. 

"  Come,  my  lads,"  the  hunter  cried, 
"  a  final  attack." 

The  Comanches  rushed  furiously  in 
to  the  passage,  but  a  fresh  discharge 
compelled  them  again  to  retire. 

"  Enough  !"  the  Trail-hunter  com 
manded,  "  that  is  what  I  wanted  to 
know." 

They  obeyed,  and  Valentine  then 
turned  to  the  chief  who  accompanied 
him. 

*  It  is  plain,"  he  said,  "  that  this  pas 
sage  has  no  outlet;  in  the  first  moment 
of  precipitation  Red  Cedar  did  not  per 
ceive  this,  else  he  would  not  have  enter 
ed  it ;  had  it  an  outlet,  tlie  bandits,  in 
stead  of  remaining,  would  have  profited 
by  the  momentary  respite  we  granted 
them  to  escape." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  chiefs  answered. 

"  What  1  tell  you  ut  this  moment, 
Curumilla  guessed  long  ago  ;  the  proof 
is  that  he  has  discovered  the  only  way 
to  make  the  demons  surrender,  smok 
ing  them  out."  Enthusiastic  shouts 
greeted  these  words. 

"  "Warriors,"  Valentine  went  on, 
"  throw  into  that  cave  all  the  wood  and 
leaves  you  can  ;  when  there  is  a  large 
pile,  we  will  set  light  to  it." 


Red  Cedar  and  his  comrades  probably 
guessing  their  enemy's  intention,  tried 
to  prevent  it  by  keeping  up  an  inces 
sant  fire,  but  the  Indians,  rendered  pru 
dent  by  experience,  placed  themselves 
so  as  to  escape  the  bullets,  which  hit 
nobody.  The  entrance  of  the  passage 
was  soon  almost  blocked  up  with  inflam 
mable  matter  of  every  description. 

Valentine  seized  a  lighted  torch,  but 
before-  setting  fire  to  the  pile  he  made  a 
sign  to  command  silence,  and  addressed 
the  besieged  : 

"  Red  Cedar,"  he  shouted,  "  we  are 
going  to  smoke  you  out,  will  you  sur 
render  V 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  accursed  French 
man,"  the  squatter  replied. 

And  three  shots  served  as  peroration 
to  this  energetic  answer. 

"  Attention  now  !  for  when  these  de 
mons  feel  themselves  broiling,  they  will 
make  a  desperate  effort,"  Valentine 
said. 

He  threw  the  torch  into  the  pile,  the 
fire  at  once  began  crackling,  and  a  dense 
cloud  of  smoke  and  flame  formed  a  cur 
tain  before  the  passage.  In  the  mean 
while,  all  held  in  readiness  to  repulse  the 
sortie  of  the  besieged,  for  the  Indians 
knew  that  the  collision  would  be  rude. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long,  ere  they 
saw  three  devils  burst  through  the  flames 
and  rushed  headlong  upon  them. 

A  frightful  medley  took  place  in  the 
narrow  corridor,  which  lasted  some 
minutes. 

Don  Pablo,  on  perceiving  Red  Cedar, 
rushed  upon  him,  and  in  spite  of  the 
bandit's  resistance,  seized  Ellen,  aud 
bore  her  away  in  his  arms. 

The  squatter  roared  like  a  tiger,  fell 
ing  all  who  came  within  his  reach.  For 
their  part,  Sutler  and  Fray  Ambrosio 
fought  with  the  courage  and  resolution 
of  men  who  knew  that  they  were  about 
to  die. 

But  this  desperate  struggle  of  three 
against  several  hundred  could  not  last 
long  ;  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts  they 
were  at  length  lassoed,  and  securely 
bound. 

"  Kill  me,  villains,"  Red  Cedar  howl 
ed  in  despair. 

Blood  son  walked  up  to  him,  and 
touched  his  shoulder. 


172 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  You  will  be  tried  by  Lynch  Law, 
Red  Cedar,"  he  said  to  him. 

At  the  sight  of  the  ranger  the  squat 
ter  made  a  terrible  effort  to  burst  his 
bonds,  and  rush  upon  him  ;  but  he  did 
not  succeed,  and  fell  back  on  the  ground, 
which  he  bit  at  wildly,  and  foaming  with 
rage.  When  the  fight  was  over,  Valen 
tine  hurried  from  the  cavern  to  breathe 
a  little  fresh  air. 

Sunbeam   was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Koutonepi,"  she  said  to  him,  "  Sera- 
phin,  the  Father  of  Prayer,  has  sent 
me  to  you — your  mother  is  dying." 

"  My  mother  !"  the  hunter  exclaimed 
in  despair.  "  Oh,  God  !  what  shall  I  do 
to  reach  her?" 

''Curumilla  is  warned,"  she  answer 
ed  ;  "  he  is  waiting  for  you  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountains,  with  two  horses." 

The  hunter  rushed  down  the  path 
like  a  madman. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

LYNCH     LAW. 

BEFORE  going  further,  we  will  explain 
in  a  few  words  what  Lynch  Law  is  to 
which  we  have  several  times  referred 
in  the  course  of  this  narrative,  and 
which  plays  so  great  a  part,  not  only  in 
the  prairies  of  North  America,  but  also 
in  certain  districts  of  the  United 
States. 

Although  we  Europeans  are  rightly 
surprised  that  such  a  monstrosity  as 
Lvnch  Law  can  exist  in  a  general  so 
ciety,  to  be  just  to  the  Americans,  and 
although  we  are  bound  to  disapprove 
their  present  system  derived  from  the 
original,  this  law  was  the  result  of  im 
perious  circumstances.  When  the  Pil 
grim  Fathers  landed  at  Plymouth, 
Lynch  Law  was  the  chastisement  im 
posed  by  a  community  deprived  of  all 
law,  who  could  only  have  recourse  to 
their  own  justice  to  punish  crime. 

Now-a-days,  in  the  great  centres  of 
the  Union,  this  law,  on  the  contrary,  is 
only  the  i* legal  exercise  of  power  by  a 
majority  acting  in  opposition  to  the 
laws  of  the  country,  as  well  as  the 
punishments,  where  the  population  is 


sparse,  and  which,  according  to  the 
Constitution,  must  have  a  certain  num 
ber  of  Inhabitant*  to  be  recognized  as 
districts  ;  up  to  that  recognition,  those 
who  have  come  to  seek  an  existence  at 
these  settlements  among  bandits  of 
every  description,  against  whose  attacks 
they  cannot  appeal  to  any  legal  protec 
tion,  are  obliged  to  protect  themselves, 
and  have  recourse  to  Lynch  Law.  In 
the  prairies  of  the  Far  West,  this  law 
is  exactly  the  same  as  the  ancient  l#x 
talionis  of  the  Hebrews. 

We  will  not  go  deeper  into  the  sub 
ject  of  this  Jaw,  which  is  so  obscure  in 
its  origin,  that  its  very  name  is  an  un 
solved  riddle,  although  some  persons 
assert  wrongly,  as  we  think,  that  Lynch 
was  a  governor  who  first  applied  this 
law. 

We  will  now  return  to  our  narra 
tive. 

Four  days  after  the  events  we  de 
scribe  in  our  last  chapter,  Unicorn's 
camp  afforded  a  strange  sight ;  not  only 
did  it  contain  Indian  warriors  belong 
ing  to  all  the  allied  nations  of  the  Co- 
manches,  but  also  many  hunters,  trap 
pers,  and  half-breeds  had  hurried  in 
from  all  parts  of  the  prairies  to  try  the 
prisoners,  and  punish  them  by  Lynch 
Law  as  understood  in  the  Far  West. 

Father  Sernphin,  who  was  at  this 
moment  in  camp,  busied  in  offering 
help  and  consolation  to  Madame  Guil- 
lois,  whose  illness  had  reached  its  last 
and  fatal  stage,  tried  to  oppose  the  trial 
of  the  prisoners  with  all  his  power. 
In  vain  did  he  present  to  the  Indians 
and  white  men  that  there  were  upright 
judges  in  the  United  states,  who  would 
apply  the  laws  and  punish  the  crimi 
nals;  his  efforts  had  obtained  no  result, 
and  he  had  been  obliged  to  withdraw, 
heart-broken. 

Not  being  able  to  save  the  pris 
oners,  he  wished  to  prepare  them  for 
death  ;  but  here  again  the  missionary 
failed  :  he  had  found  scoundrels  with 
hearts  bronzed  by  crime,  who  would  not 
listen,  but  derided  him. 

Singularly  enough,  since  these  men 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  their  ene 
mies,  they  had  not  exchanged  a  word, 
crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  hut  that 
served  as  a  prison,  sullen  as  wild  beasts, 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


173 


they  avoided  each  other  as  much  as  th 
bonds  that  attached  them  permitte 
them  to  do. 

Ellen  alone  appeared  among  them 
like  the  angel  of  consolation,  lavishin_ 
soft  words  on  them,  and  trying  before 
all  to  soothe  her  father's  last  hours. 

Red  Cedar  only  lived  in  and  througl 
his  daughter — each  smile  of  the  poor 
girl  which  hid  her  tears,  brought 
smile  on  his  face  branded  and  ravagec 
by  passion  :  if  he  could  have  reformed 
his  paternal  love  would  surely  have 
affected  this  prodigy  ;  but  it  was  too 
late,  all  was  dead  in  this  heart,  which 
now  only  contained  one  feeling,  a  pater 
nal  affection  like  that  of  tigers  anc 
panthers. 

"  Is  it  for  to-day,  my  child  ?"  he  ask 
ed. 

"  I  do  not  know,  father,"  she  timid 
ly  replied. 

"  J  understand  you,  poor  darling,  you 
are  afraid  of  grieving  me  by  letting  me 
know  the  truth  ;  but  undeceive  your 
self,  when  a  man  like  me  has  fallen  so 
low  as  I  have  done,  the  only  blessing 
he  craves  is  death,  and,  stay,  I  have  my 
answer  then,"  he  added  with  a  grin 
"  Judge  Lynch  is  about  to  begin  his 
duty." 

A  great  noise  was  audible  at  this  mo 
ment  in  the  camp  ;  three  stakes  had 
been  put  up  in  the  morning,  and  round 
them  the  population  were  tumultuously 
electing  the  judges  ordered  to  avenge 
public  justice. 

The  judges  were  seven  in  number. 
Valentine,  Curumilla,  Unicorn,  Black 
Cat,  Spider,  and  two  other  Comanche 
chiefs. 

Care  had  been  taken  not  to  elect  any 
who  had  accusations  to  bring  against 
the  prisoners. 

At  midday  precisely,  a  silence  of 
lead  fell  on  the  assembly,  a  band  of 
warriors  and  trappers  had  gone  to  the 
prison  to  fetch  the  prisoners  and  lead 
them  before  the  judges. 

Although  Father  Seraphin's  attempts 
to  arouse  better  feelings  in  the  heart  of 
the  bandits  had  failed,  he  determined  to 
accompany  and  exhort  them  to  the  last 
moment;  he  walked  on  the  right  of 
Red  Cedar,  and  Ellen  on  his  left. 
When  the  prisoners  were  brought 


before  the  tribunal,  Valentine,  who  had 
been  nominated  president  against  his 
will,  summoned  the  accusers,  who  at 
once  appeared. 

They  were  five  in  number  :  Don  Mi 
guel,      Don     Pablo       Zarate,     Andres 
Garote,  White   Gazelle,  and  Bloodson. 
Valentine    took    the  word  in  a  loud 
and  firm  voice. 

"  Red  Cedar,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
about  to  be  tried  by  Lynch  Law  :  you 
will  hear  the  crimes  of  which  you  are 
accused,  and  have  entire  liberty  to  de 
fend  yourself." 

The  squatter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Your  Lynch  Law  is  foolish,"  he 
said  disdainfully  ;  "  it  can  only  kill,  and 
the  victim  has  not  even  time  to  feel 
the  pain :  instead  of  taking  that  ab 
surd  vengeance,  fasten  me  to  the  stake 
of  torture  for  a  day,  and  then  you  will 
have  some  fun,  for  you  shall  see  how  a 
warrior  can  look  death  in  the  face,  and 
endure  pain." 

"  You  are  mistaken  as  to  our  inten 
tions  :  we  are  not  avenging  ourselves, 
but  punishing  you  ;  the  stake  is  re 
served  for  brave  and  honorable  war 
riors,  but  criminals  are  only  worthy  of 
the  gallows." 

"  As  you  please,"  he  replied  care 
lessly;  "what  I  said  was  through  a 
wish  to  afford  you  pleasure." 

"  Who   are    the    persons    who    have 
harges  against  Red  Cedar  ?"  Valentine 
went  on. 

"  I,  Don  Miguel  de  Zarate." 

"  1,  Don  Pablo  de  Zarate." 

"  1,  who  am  called  Bloodson,  but 
who  will  reveal  my  real  name  if  Red 
Dedar  desires  it." 

"  It  is  unnecessary,"  he  said  in  a  hol- 
ow  voice. 

"  I,  White  Gazelle." 

"  Bring  your  charges  forward." 

"  I  accuse  this  man  of  having  curried 
off  my  daughter,   whom   he  basely  as 
sassinated,"  Don  Miguel  said  ;  "  1  also 
accuse  him  of  having  caused  the  death 
f  my  friend,  General  Ibanez." 

"  What  reply  hav.e  you  to  this?" 

"  None." 

"  What  does  the  people  say  ?" 

"  We  attest,"  the  audience  replied 
i  one  voice. 

"  I    accuse  this    man   of   the    same 
crimes,"  Don  Pablo  said. 


174 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


"  I  accuse  this  man  of  having  burnt 
the  house  of  my  father  and  mother,  as 
sassinated  my  parents,  and  handed  me 
over  to  bandits  to  be  brought  up  in 
crime,"  White  Gazelle  said. 

"1,"  Bloodson  added,  ''accuse  him 
of  the  same  crimes  :  this  girl's  father 
was  my  brother." 

There  was  a  start  of  horror  on  the 
audience. 

Valentine  consulted  with  the  ju3ges 
in  a  low  voice,  then  said  :  "  Red  Cedar, 
you  are  unanimously  found  guilty  and 
condemned  to  be  scalped,  and  then 
hung." 

Sutter  was  condemned  to  be  hanged 
only  ;  the  judges  had  regard  for  his 
youth,  and  the  evil  examples  he  had 
constantly  before  him. 

The  monk's  turn  had  now  arrived. 

"  One  moment,"  Bloodson  said,  as 
he  stepped  forward  ;  "  this  man  is  a 
wretched  adventurer,  who  has  no  right 
to  wear  the  gown  he  has  so  long  dis 
honored.  I  ask  that  it  be  stripped  off 
him,  before  he  is  tried." 

"  Why  waste  time  in  accusing  me, 
and  making  this  mockery  of  justice?" 
Fray  Ambrosio  ironically  replied. 
"  All  you  who  try  us  are  as  criminal 
as  we  are.  You  are  assassins  ;  for  you 
usurp,  without  any  right,  functions  that 
do  not  belong  to  you.  This  time  you 
act  justly,  by  chance  :  a  thousand 
other  times,  awed  by  the  populace 
that  surrounds  you,  you  condemn  in 
nocent  men.  If  you  wish  to  know  my 
crimes,  I  will  tell  you  them.  That 
man  is  right.  I  am  no  monk — never 
was  one.  I  began  by  debauchery  ;  I 
finished  in  crime.  As  an  accomplice 
of  Red  Cedar,  I  fired  farms,  whose 
inhabitants  I  burned  or  assassinated, 
in  order  to  plunder  them  afterwards. 
I  have  been,  still  with  Red  Cedar,  a 
scalp  hunter,  t  helped  to  carry  off 
that  girl.  \Vhat  more  ?  1  killed  that 
gambusino's  brother  in  order  to  ob 
tain  the  secret  of  a  placer.  Do  you 
want  any  more  ?  Imagine  the  most 
atrocious  and  hideous  crimes,  and  1 
have  committed  them  all.  Now  pro 
nounce  and  carry  out  your  sentence, 
for  you  will  not  succeed  in  making 
me  utter  another  word..  1  despise 
you.  You  are  cowards." 


After  uttering  these  odious  words 
with  revolting  cynicism,  the  wretch 
looked  impudently  round  the  audience. 

"  You  are  sentenced,"  Valentine  said, 
after  a  consultation,  "  to  be  scalped, 
hung  up  by  the  arms,  seasoned  with 
honey,  and  remain  hanging  till  the  flies 
and  birds  have  devoured  you." 

On  hearing  this  terrible  sentence,  the 
bandit  could  not  repress  a  start  of  ter 
ror,  while  the  people  frenziedly  applauJ- 
ed  this  severe  sentence. 

"  Now  the  sentence  will  be  carried 
out,"  Valentine  said. 

"  One  moment,"  Unicorn  exclaimed, 
as  he  sprang  up,  and  stood  before  the 
judges;  "as  regards  Red  Cedar,  the 
law  has  not  been  followed  :  does  it  not 
say,  '  eye  for  eye,  and  tooth  for  tooth?'  " 

'•  Yes,  yes  !"  the  Indians  and  trappers 
shouted. 

Struck  by  an  ominous  presentiment, 
Red  Cedar  trembled. 

"  Yes,  "  Bloodson  said,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  Red  Cedar  killed  Donna  Clara, 
Don  Miguel's  daughter —  his  daughter 
Ellen  must  die." 

The  judges  themselves  recoiled  in 
horror,  and  Red  Cedar  uttered  a  terri 
ble  howl. 

Ellen  alone  did  not  tremble. 

"  I  am  ready  to  die,"  she  said,  in  a 
gentle  and  resigned  voice.  "  Poor 
girl !  Heaven  knows  how  gladly  I 
would  have  given  my  life  to  save  hers." 

"  My  daughter  !"  Red  Cedar  exclaim 
ed,  in  despair. 

"  Don  Miguel  felt  the  same  when  you 
were  assassinating  his  daughter,"  Blood- 
son  retorted,  cruelly.  "  Eye  for  eye, 
tooth  for  tooth." 

"Oh  !  what  you  are  doing  there,  my 
brothers,  is  horrible,"  Father  Seraphin 
exclaimed.  "  You  are  shedding  inno 
cent  blood,  and  it  will  fall  on  your 
heads.  GOD  will  punish  you.  For 
pity's  sake,  brothers,  do  not  kill  that 
innocent  maiden!" 

At  a  signal  from  Unicorn,  four  war 
riors  seized  the  missionary,  and,  des 
pite  his  efforts,  while  treating  him 
most  kindly,  carried  him  to  the  chiefs 
lodge,  where  they  guarded  him. 

Valentine  and  Curumilla  tried  in 
vain  to  oppose  this  barbarous  and  blood 
thirsty  deed,  but  the  Indians  and  trap- 


THE    TRAPPER'S     DAUGHTER. 


175 


pers,  worked  on  by  Bloodson,  loudly 
claimed  the  execution  of  the  law,  and 
threatened  to  take  justice  into  their  own 
hands. 

In  vain  did  Don  Miguel  and  his  son 
implore  Unicorn  and  Bloodson;  they 
could  obtain  nothing. 

At  length,  Unicorn,  weaned  by  the 
young  man's  prayers,  seized  Ellen  by 
the  hair,  plunged  his  knife  into  her 
heart,  and  threw  her  into  his  arms, 
shouting : 

"  Her  father  killed  your  sister,  and 
you  pray  for  her.  You  are  a  coward." 

Valentine,  at  this  unjustifiable  deed, 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  fled. 

Red  Cedar  writhed  in  the  bonds  that 
held  him.  On  seeing  Ellen  fall,  a  revolu 
tion  took  place  in  him.  Henceforth  he 
only  uttered  one  word,  in  a  heartrend 
ing  voice : 

"My  daughter  !  my  daughter  !" 

Bloodson  and  White  Gazelle  were 
implacable,  and  sternly  watched  the  ex 
ecution  of  the  sentence  passed  upon  the 
prisoners. 

Red  Cedar  and  his  son  did  not  suffer 
long,  although  the  former  was  sealped  ; 
the  madness  that  had  seized  on  him  ren 
dered  him  insensible  to  everything. 

The  man  who  suffered  the  most  fear 
ful  punishment  was  Fray  Ambrosio ; 
the  wretch  writhed  for  two-and-twenty 
hours,  in  unimaginable  suffering,  e^re 
death  put  an  end  to  his  fearful  tortures. 

So  soon  as  the  culprits  had  been  ex 
ecuted,  Bloodson  and  White  Gazelle 
mounted  their  horses  and  galloped 
away. 

They  have  never  been  heard  of  since, 
and  no  one  knows  what  has  become  of 

them. 

****** 

It.  was  the  eighth  day  after  the  fear 
ful  application  of  Lynch  Law  we  have 
just  described,  a  little  before  sunset. 

All  traces  of  the  execution  had  dis 
appeared. 

Unicorn's  camp  was  still  established 
at  the  same  spot,  for  he  insisted  on  his 
men  remaining  there,  on  account  of  Ma 
dame  Guillois's  illness  rendering  the 
most  absolute  rest  necessary  for  her. 

The  poor  old  lady  felt  herself  dying 
by  degrees ;  day  by  day  she  grew 
weaker,  and,  gifted  with  that  lucidity 


which  Heaven  at  times  grants  to  the  dy 
ing,  she  saw  death  approach  with  a 
smile,  while  striving  to  console  her  son 
for  her  loss. 

But  Valentine,  who  after  so  many 
years  only  saw  his  mother  again  to  sepa 
rate  from  her  for  ever,  was  inconsolable. 

Deprived  of  Don  Miguel  and  Don 
Pablo,  who  had  returned  to  the  Paso 
del  Norte,  bearing  with  them  the  body 
!  of  the  hapless  Trapper's  Daughter,  the 
Trail-hunter  wept  on  the  bosom  of  Curu- 
milla,  who,  to  console  him,  could  only 
weep  with  him,  and  say  : 

"The  Great  Spirit  recals  my  brother's 
mother  ;  it  is  because  that  he  loves  her." 

A  very  long  sentence  for  the  worthy 
chief,  and  which  proved  the  intensity 
of  his  grief. 

On  the  day  when  we  resume  our  nar 
rative,  Madame  Guillois  was  reclining 
in  a  hammock  in  front  of  her  hut,  with 
her  face  turned  to  the  setting  sun. 

Valentine  was  standing  on  her  right, 
Father  Seraphin  on  her  left,  and  Guru- 
milla  by  his  friend's  side. 

The  patient's  face  had  a  radiant  ex 
pression,  her  eyes  sparkled  vividly,  and 
a  light  pink  flush  gilded  her  cheeks;  she 
seemed  supremely  happy. 

The  warriors,  sharing  in  the  grief  of 
their  adopted  brother,  were  crouching 
silently  near  the  hut. 

It  was  a  magnificent  evening  ;  the 
breeze  that  was  beginning  to  rise  gently 
agitated  the  leaves  ;  the  sun  was  setting 
in  a  flood  of  vapor,  irridescent  with  a 
thousand  changing  tints. 

The  sick  woman  uttered  at  times 
broken  words,  which  her  son  religiously 
repeated. 

At  the  moment  when  the  sun  disap 
peared  behind  the  snowy  peaks  of  the 
mountains,  the  dying  woman  rose,  as  if 
impelled  by  an  irresistible  force,  she 
took  a  calm  and  limpid  glance  around, 
laid  her  hands  on  the  hunter's  head,  and 
uttered  one  word,  with  an  accent  full  of 
strange  melody  : 

"  Farewell  !" 

Then  she  fell  back — she  was  dead. 

Instinctively  all  present  knelt.  Va 
lentine  bent  over  his  mother's  body, 
who*e  face  retained  that  halo  of  heaven 
ly  beauty  which  is  the  last  adornment 
of  death;  he  closed  her  eyes,  kissed  her 


176 


THE    TRAPPER'S    DAUGHTER. 


several  times,  and  pressing  her  right 
hand  which  hung  out  of  the  hammock 
in  liis,  he  prayed  fervently. 

The  whole  night  was  spent  in  this 
way,  and  no  one  left  the  spot. 

At  daybreak  Father  Seraphin,  aided 
by  Curumilla,  who  acted  as  sacristan, 
read  the  service  for  the  dead.  The  body 
was  then  buried,  all  the  Indian  warriors 
being  present  at  the  ceremony. 

When  all  had  retired,  Valentine  knelt 
down  by  the  grave,  and  though  the  mis 
sionary  and  the  chief  urged  on  him  to 
leave  it  he  insisted  on  spending  this 
night  also  in  watching  over  his  dead 
mother. 

At  daybreak  his  two  friends  returned; 
they  found  him  still  kneeling  and  pray 
ing;  he  was  pale,  and  his  features  were 
worn  ;  his  hair,  so  black  on  the  eve,  had 
white  hairs  now  mingling  with  it. 

Father  Seraphin  tried  to  restore  his 
courage,  but  the  hunter  shook  his  head 
*adly  at  all  the  priest's  pious  exhorta 
tions. 

"What  good  is  it  ?"  he  said. 

"  Oh  !"  the  missionary  at  length  said 
to  him,  "  Valentine,  you,  who  are  so 


strong,  are  now  weak  as  a  child  ;  grief 
lays  you  low  without  your  striking  a 
blow  in  self-defence."  You  forget,  though, 
that  you  do  not  belong  to  yourself." 

"  Alas  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  left 
me  now  ?" 

"  GOD  !"  the  priest  said  sternly,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  sky. 

"  And  the  desert !"  Curumilla  ex 
claimed,  extending  his  arm  toward  the 
rising  sun. 

A  flame  flashed  from  the  hunter's 
black  eye  ;  he  shook  his  head  several 
times,  bent  a  glance  full  of  tenderness 
on  the  tomb,  and  said,  in  a  broken 
voice  : 

"  Mother,  we  shall  meet  again." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  Indian  chief. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  resolutely. 

Valentine  was  about  to  commence  a 
new  existence. 

His  further  adventures  will  be  de 
scribed  in  a  new  series  of  stories,  each 
complete  in  itself,  commencing  with  the 
"  The  Tiger  Slayer,"  and  the  characters 
running  through  the  "  Gold  Finders," 
the  "  Indian  Chief,"  and  the  "  Bed 
Track." 


THE     END. 


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No.  306  Chestnut  T 


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BY  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 

MAXWELL'S  WORKS. 

Train's  Union  Speeches,  SO 
Twin  Lleutenauts,    -       50 

Mysteries  Three  Cltlei       80 
Clifford  *  the  Actress,       50 

Wild  Sports  of  the  West,   50 
Stories  of  Waterloo,   -        50 

Brian  O'Lynn,    -        -       S* 

Lady  Maud.    -            -        75 

Ryan's    Mysteries   of 

Banditti  of  Prairie,    -        50 
Greatest  Plasue  of  Life,    50 

Marriage,      -                   5* 
Fortune  Hunter,         -        38 

EMBROIDERY,  ETIGIZJETTE,  ETC. 

Tom  Racquet,             -       50 

Victims  Amusements,       38 

Miss  Lamlicrt's  Complete  G:i  tie  to  N'eedle  work  and 

Bed  Indians  of  New- 

Siege  of  Londonderry,        38 

Embroidery.     IIS  Illustration".     Cloth,          -        -    1  .ifl 

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The  Orphan  Sisters".        JW 

Lady's  Work  Table  Book,  plutes,  cloth,  crimson  gilt,  1  (« 

SUialhiel,  by  Croly,  -       50 

Gen.  Scott's  Portrait,    1  00 

Gentlemen'!  Etiquette,        ......        <jj 

Aristocracy,     -                     50 

Henry  Clay's  Portrait,  1  00 

Inquisition  in  Spain,        50 

Wilfred  Montressor,       1  00 

Flirtations  in  America      50 
The  Coquette,            -        50 

Petersons'    Complete 
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Life  in  the  South,     -        50 

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the     Cains   In   the 

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limlwurth's  Songs,    -        13 

Whitehall.       -           -       60 

World,          -           -    1  00 

Melodeon  SOUK  Book,        13 

Christy  and    White's 

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Violet,-           -           -        50 

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Complete  Ethiopian 

P.omlsh  Confessional,        50 

Montaeue,  or  Almack*      60 

Ethiopian  Song  Book.        13 

Melodic*.    Cloth,  -       75 

Miner's  Heir,  paper,  -       50 
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Wearyfoot    Common,        38 
Life  in  the  Far  West,        50 

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Father  Clement,  paper,    50 

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do.                cloth,     75 

New  Hope  ;  or  Rescue       76 

Seven  Poor  Travelers,      13 

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The  Schoolboy,                   13 

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Corlnne,  or  Italy,  by 
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Lizzie  Leiph,     -        -        13 
Christmas  Carol,         -        13 
The  Chimes,       -        -        13 

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Life  of  John  Maffit.    -       IS 
Euchre  and  Its  Law»,         13 

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Cricket  on  the  Hearth,       13 
Battle  of  Life,    -        -        13 

Throne  of  Iniquity,    -        13 
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Haunted  Man,    -        -        l;s 

Dr.   Bern's  Answer  to 

The  Two  Primn  Don 

American  Joe  Miller,        2« 

Mother  fc  Step  Mother,      13 

Archbishop  Iluchea,         13 

nas.     By  O.  A.  Sala,      25 

Abbey  of  I  nnlsmovle        25 

•   Odd  Fellowship  Exposed,  IS 

Sons  ot  Malta  Exposed,     IS 

The  Haunted  House,         25 

Gliddon's        Ancient 

Jlonnouism  Exposed,         13 

Magic  Cards,       -        -        18 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground,     25 

Egypt,           -           -        25 

Mysterious  Marriaee,       25 
J*ek  Downiug's  Letters     25 
Mysteries  of  a  Convent      25 

Josephine,          -                  2-5 
Philip  Search  of  Wife,      25 
Webster  and  Hayne'i 

WADSWORTI 

America's  Mission,    -        25 

FS  SERMONS. 

Thanksgiving;  a  Thanks 

KM  Brandon,             -        25 

Reply  to  Col.  Footc.        25 

Thankfulness*  C'.ar- 

giving  Sermon,        -        it 

UOM  Warrlmrton,       -        25 

Father  Tom  and  Pope,       25 

acter,        ...       2.1 

Politic.  .1.      L-..     m.  ,        12 

Robert  Oakland,       -       25 

Slave  Smuggler,          -        25 

Henry  Wan'  lecher  on  War  and  Emancipation,     -        IS 

The  Iron  CrossT         -        25 

Life  In  Syria.  -           -        25 

Rev.  William  T.  Brantley's  Union  Sermon,                      14 

Charles  Kansford,      -       25 
Sybil  Grey,      -             -        25 
Female  Ufe  in  N.  York     25 
Arfnes  Grey,    -           -        25 

Mrs.  Bradley's  Cook-B'k,  25 
Life  of  Pres't  Lincoln,       25 
"     Gen'l  Scott,    -        25 
"     Geo.  Law,        -        as 

NEW  YORK  MERCURY  STORIES. 

tach  book  contains  Illustrative  Engravings  by  Parley. 

I.va  St.  Clair,             -        25 

"  .  Sayres  &  He«nan,  25                     «ul  Sabberday,                  25 

The     Rift     and     the 

,  I);  *rj  »f  a  Physician  -        25 

Life  Raft,                             25                   fen  Waif,                              25 

Spray,                                23 

{•.migrant  Squire,        -        25 

Ballet  Girl,                           25 

The  White  Wizard,   -        25 

Monrnn,                                25 

M.iuk.  by  Lewis,        -        25 

Ashleigh,    ...        25 

The  Mau-o'-War's-Man's 

The   Sword-Maker  of 

lU-ftiitiful  French  Girl,      25 

Championship,  -        -        25 

Grudge,     ...         25 

the  Santfc,      -        -       25 

Mysteries  of  Bedlam,        25 

Career  of  Chi*>-iplons,        25 

Btclla  Delorme,  -        -        ST. 

The  Shell-Hunter,     -        25 

Nobleman's  Daughter,      25 

Southern  C!  .    Airy,    -        25 

Lnoua  Prescott,          •        25 

Golden  Feather,         -       2.; 

Kir  *  Stratford,            -       25 

A  Life's  Struffple,       -    1  25 

Our  Mesn,     ...         2.5 

Scotto,  the  Scout,       -       iW 

U'-iojt  Stories,              .        2.1 

Train  and  Hughes,    -        10 

Thayendauega,    the 

The  Death  Myttery,  .       25 

At«!<lnego,  MM.  Gore          25 

Train  on  Slavery,       -        10 

Scourge,   -       -        -  .     25 

The  Owlet,                         15 

Mft<li*on's  Exposition 

Game  of  Euchre,        -        7J 

Elfrida,                                 25 

Silver  Star,                           W 

of  Odd   Fellowship.        V 

Hi  tie  ShoU,                         25 

Pathaway,          »       -       25 

Catholiua,                            24 

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